Lost Souls
by SmurfLuvsCookies
Summary: When a pair of sapphire earrings becomes an apocalypse, it's up to them to save everything that matters. They just don't know where to start.
1. Prologue

_**Author's Note:** Howdy! This is a pet project I've wanted to do for a while now, but for some reason I've never gotten around to it. I've was just too busy with other things, I guess. But now that the Lisanna and Bixlow thing is starting to take off, I've decided to contribute more. Because I love them. Dearly. This is something a little different for me, though; it's less comedy, more action, something of a serious take on life in Fiore. Hence the M rating. It's not necessarily because of sex. It's really violence. Because this is going to get violent. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy it, and don't forget to spread the love (or whatever it is you humans call that feeling of warm satisfaction in your gut) via favoriting and following and reviewing. :)_

_**Disclaimer:** I don't own Fairy Tail. I think it's well established by now that Hiro Mashima does, and I'm not Hiro Mashima. Please stop making me say it. I die a little inside every time._

* * *

**Prologue**

A shadow shifted in the darkness.

Alastor looked up from the flame pit into the gaping maw of the tunnel. It was just a flicker, a silent glimpse two shades darker than the glittering teeth of the great stone beast. He brought his attention back to the fire. "Good evening, Sister."

A swish of the swirling black cloak brushing the rock floor was the only sound the woman made as she stepped into the light of the cavern. Gurgling hymns rose from the tunnel behind her, misshapen music echoing off the stone walls, enfolding the residents in the ugly, reassuring noise. The figure inclined her head toward the white fire in the center of the cave. "Good evening, Brother Alastor." She removed the hood of her robes, letting white hair bleached from the light of the flames tumble down her shoulders. Her eyes were stark black holes in her fair face.

"Duska," Alastor greeted warmly, less formally. He stood, red robes unfurling around his broad body, stopping just out of reach of the pit. "What have I the pleasure?"

"It is I who have the pleasure of your company, Brother," Duska murmured. "I have news that will please you. The blessing is almost complete. All that is left are the sacrifices."

Alastor looked back down at the flames, scratching the brown stubble on his chin. "You were right, Duska. This news does please me." He turned back to her. "Fetch Brother Hugh."

"I'm already here." A second shadow detached from the wall, shooting smoothly into the light. Alastor was impressed, and a little alarmed. He hadn't noticed the slim dark man slouching in the creases of the cave. Then again, Hugh was his lieutenant for that very skill.

"Leave us," Hugh told Duska in his deep, firm voice. The woman nodded and retreated into the tunnel, pulling the hood back over her blonde head. Her narrowed eyes betrayed her dislike for Hugh, but no one really _did_ appreciate the lieutenant. No one except Alastor. And here, only Alastor's opinion mattered.

Hugh's eyes were silver in the white light, his hair and skin black as pitch. Unlike the others, he never honored the tradition of wearing the hood of his robes before speaking to a superior. He never addressed anyone as 'brother' or 'sister' either, which was generally a grievous insult. Hugh, however, was good enough at his job to forgive such insubordination. Good and loyal.

The lieutenant pointed one long finger at the white flames. "Duska shared the news. It's time to begin, Alastor. What have you seen?"

"Nothing," Alastor said, walking around the fire pit. The word brought a smirk to his thin lips. "Absolutely nothing."

"Why are you so smug? Nothing isn't good. It gives us no leads, nowhere to strike."

"I disagree," said Alastor. "Nothing means we've accomplished our goal. Nothing means there is no future. No future in the flames, no future in the future. Nothing is a blank canvas on which we can paint the glorious vision of our Lord Zeref."

Hugh scowled. "But we need sacrifices, Alastor. Where are we to get the sacrifices?"

"Never fear, dear brother. There is plenty of fodder around us." Alastor brushed his fingers along the flames, twirling and shaping the fire into the spindles of a grand guild hall. "All we need to do is hunt."

Hugh's teeth flashed like a bright blade in the dimness. "Hunting. I know how to do that. I'll grab Enid, and we'll have your sacrifices before sundown tomorrow."

"No, not Enid," Alastor said sharply, his fiery guild hall collapsing. "I need this done quietly. Even the fiercest wolves cannot slaughter an entire flock of protected sheep. But when they take the lambs in the night, one by one, eventually they will conquer the shepherd's herd."

"I think you underestimate the wolves," Hugh growled.

"Regardless, there can be no mistakes. We're cutting it close as it is. If one thing goes awry, the whole operation will tumble."

"Very well," Hugh resigned.

"I'm glad you've listened to reason," said Alastor. He swept his hand across the fire so it raged, screaming, up to the ceiling. Hugh flew back to avoid the inferno, eyes round and panicked, like a wild animal caught between fight and flight. Alastor tipped back his head and laughed. "Remember, Brother Hugh," he warned with a ferocious grin, "the best killers are those whose prey doesn't realize it's already dead."

With a snap of his fingers, he put out the flame.


	2. Chapter One

_**Author's Note:** Getting promising feedback so far! To answer some questions: I will admit that I did skip some other projects that got higher ratings on the poll on my profile page in favor of writing this one, but don't worry; **Too Sexy** and **Dragonlings** will not go ignored. They will get done. I just really wanted to do this one first._

_Onward, to the first real chapter!_

* * *

**Chapter One**

Lisanna wrinkled her nose at the request board. There were three papers secured to the cork with shiny new thumbtacks—the guild tended to obliterate anything resembling office supplies, so Mirajane was constantly replenishing them—and none of the requests paid particularly well. "What happened to all the requests that were here yesterday?" Lisanna asked Nab, gesturing hopelessly to the barren board.

"It's Thursday," Nab replied with a sympathetic look. Lisanna groaned—not only was it Thursday, it was the last Thursday of the month. Everyone's rent was due. The Strauss siblings didn't have to worry about that, since they lived in an old house just a few blocks away, but Lisanna was intent on earning money this month—money for her sister's birthday present. It was just two weeks away, and she still needed another seven hundred jewels to buy the gorgeous sapphire earrings she'd caught Mirajane admiring in town.

Nab raised an eyebrow and glanced across the bar, where Mira was chatting with Erza, who was apparently flourishing financially if the amount of strawberry cake in front of her was any indication. Lisanna followed his gaze and jumped when his fingers brushed her arm, a folded paper note crinkling slightly as he slipped it into her cupped hand. Nab winked at her and crossed his arms over his chest, placid face returning to its default expression, eyes flicking away as if nothing had occurred. Though slightly confused, Lisanna thanked him and casually stuck her hands in her pockets, drifting across the guild until she reached the back door. Once outside, she pulled the faded yellow paper from her pocket and opened it.

.

HELP WANTED

Potential sorcery. Mage wanted to investigate disappearance of sheep from a shepherd's pasture on the tree line of the East Forest outside Magnolia Town. Shepherd in great distress, help as soon as possible. Payment of **90,000 jewels** if problem is identified and prevented.

.

Underneath the small paragraph were directions to the shepherd's pasture and a picture of a rugged cottage beneath a sprawling maple tree. Lisanna grinned. Nab must have guessed what she and Elfman were planning, and snagged decent jobs for them before the monthly rent rush. She bit her lip. If Nab noticed their sudden increase in work, there was a fair chance Mira had too. Mirajane probably knew her siblings were planning something, but Elfman and Lisanna took great pains not to tip her off to exactly what. They'd told no one, just conspired among each other. Still, in a guild full of curious mages, someone was bound to figure it out. And Mirajane was the nosiest of all.

Nevertheless, this request was exactly what Lisanna needed to top off Mira's birthday funds and finally get those earrings. She'd give Nab a special show of gratitude at the party. Maybe she could hook him up with Milly, the woman who ran the animal shelter she volunteered for. Milly was recently single, and Lisanna had never known Nab to date anyone. They both loved animals, so that was a start. She could see it now: "Hey, Nab, this is my friend Milly, she works at the animal shelter…Milly, this is the guy I was telling you about…the seith mage who uses animal possession…oh, no, no, it doesn't hurt the animal spirits…Nab, why don't you tell her more about it, I'm going to go get some punch…" And then she'd walk away and they would get engaged.

"I'm turning into Mira," she chuckled to herself, folding the yellow paper in her hand.

"Well, I hope not," came a familiar voice from behind. "One Mira is manly enough."

Lisanna turned and smiled up at her brother, who stepped from the threshold of the back door. "Elf-bro," she greeted, "I don't know if Mira would necessarily consider that a complement."

"But it was," Elfman frowned, clearly under the impression that manliness was a universally superior state of being, despite the attempts by everyone in the guild—particularly the women—to convince him otherwise. "Anyway, what are you doing out here all by yourself?" He peered around suspiciously. "You _are_ by yourself, aren't you?"

"Yes, I'm by myself," Lisanna said with a smirk. "Not that it would make any difference if I wasn't."

"I'd hate to beat some unmanly bastard to a bloody pulp right outside our guild," Elfman sniffed.

Lisanna rolled her eyes and flicked out the yellow paper. "Nab saved us a job. We have to figure out why some sheep are disappearing for nine hundred jewels. That should be enough to cover the rest of Mira's party, don't you think?"

"Yeah, more than enough," said Elfman, squinting at the paper. "Nine hundred jewels just for that? It's probably just a wolf or something. Why would he pay so much?"

"He's probably desperate," Lisanna reasoned. "A shepherd can't work without sheep. Do you want to come with me?"

"Sure. I don't feel right about you going by yourself, anyway."

"You're so overprotective," Lisanna said, sticking her tongue out at him.

"Just looking out for my sister, that's all," Elfman said. "It's the manly thing to do."

Lisanna rolled her eyes and started down the street, Elfman following suit. "You don't treat Mira like that," she pointed out. "I know you'd do anything to keep her safe, but you don't follow her around and beat up guys who hit on her. She does dangerous stuff all the time and you never say anything."

"You're my _younger_ sister," said Elfman. "It's different."

"Is not."

"Is too."

"I think you're just scared of her," Lisanna teased.

"I'm scared of both of you," Elfman admitted.

They walked for a while longer, following the directions printed on the request, discussing the details of Mirajane's surprise birthday party, one that she was inevitably aware of but would act shocked at for courtesy's sake. The map took them down the river until it ran out of the city, into the wilderness of the East Forest. They passed a scatter of cozy houses and waved at families huddled together around fires, grandparents on their porches slowly swaying on their rocking chairs as they watched their grandchildren run after fireflies. The cicadas were singing an evening song by the time they passed the last landmark, a massive boulder covered in gray-green moss.

"I think that's it," Lisanna said, pointing up ahead. The modest cottage matched the picture on the yellow paper, towering maple tree and all. The rest of the land was neatly trimmed pasture, rolling for acres until the great trees of the forest barricaded everything else from view—the city, the comfortable country houses, everything. All around them was creaking, humming wood.

"I bet my manliness it's coyotes," Elfman said, narrowing his eyes at the dark trees surrounding them. "Coyotes or wolves. Maybe bobcats."

"Slow your roll there, Eagle scout," Lisanna giggled. "The request says 'potential sorcery' for a reason. Let's talk to the shepherd and see what he as to say before we jump to conclusions."

As they neared the cottage, the whitewash door creaked and a lively little man appeared from within, stepping onto the square stone slab in front of the entrance. He was old and stooped over a tall black staff, a short gray beard trimmed neatly on his face, wild salt-and-pepper hair tumbling over his shoulders.

"Are you the mages?" he asked them in a tired, tight voice.

"Yes, we're from Fairy Tail," Lisanna replied, holding up the yellow paper. "I'm Lisanna and this is my brother, Elfman. You're the shepherd with the disappearing sheep?"

"That's right. The name's Lowell," said the shepherd. He stepped down from the concrete slab and shambled toward them, using his staff more for balance on the sloping hill than for support. He gestured one big hand toward the acreage. "C'mon, I'll show you the fields."

They followed him around the obstructing branches of the maple tree. Its leaves chattered noisily in the breeze, and little helicopter seeds spiraled down on them like spinning rain. Lisanna caught one in her hand and smiled a little, recalling a fuzzy memory of a park and a strong man with white hair lifting her up in the air, spinning her around and around like the seeds falling from the trees beside the squealing swing set.

"They're all that's left," Lowell said, pointing out into the distance. Lisanna blinked out of her reverie and let the seed fall from her fingers, counting the fluffy white clouds grazing from the pasture. "There's five now, but I had thirteen."

"Over half of your sheep are gone?" Lisanna blurted. "How long has this been going on?"

"Only about a week! One sheep disappears every night. At first I thought coyotes or something, so I let the dogs roam around the next night. Good dogs, too. Old, but loyal. Next morning, both of them were gone, along with another sheep." Lowell nodded to himself. "That's why I think it's something dark. Black magic. Wild animals aren't that systematic."

"It is weird," Elfman agreed.

"We'll take a look around and see what we can find out," Lisanna assured, tucking the yellow paper into the back pocket of her shorts. "We'll stay through the night if we have to."

"Thank you," Lowell sighed. "I can't afford to lose any more."

The shepherd watched them as they strode down the hill, deeper into the pasture. Lisanna peeked over her shoulder at his silhouette. "What do you think?" she asked Elfman.

"I'm beginning to see why this job is nine hundred jewels," he replied gruffly. "It's definitely something worth looking into, though. I've never seen anything like it."

"Me neither," Lisanna admitted.

"This is a big pasture," Elfman said. "It'll go quicker if we split up. I'll go take a look at the sheep, see if they give us any clues."

Lisanna nodded as he headed off, poking at some grass with her toe. She frowned and squinted at the blades. Most of the grass was soft and green, lush from the warm spring showers. There was a patch just a few meters from the tree, though, which was dead and brown. It was a perfect circle, surrounded by a ring of black ash. Lisanna crouched down for a closer look. She ran her fingers across the tips of the dead lawn, watched it crumble delicately under the pressure. She turned her head. Elfman was already halfway across the pasture, striding determined toward the pale shapes in the distance. She cupped her hands around her mouth.

"Elf—"

Her cry cut off at a shriek was the dead grass under her feet exploded into hot dust around her, filling her eyes and nose and mouth with the taste of decay. Lisanna fell back on her elbows, coughing and rubbing her teary eyes. When she looked up she could make out the blurry outline of a figure in a black cloak. The person's face was hidden from view, all but a sharp chin covered in yellow bristles.

"Lisanna!"

She looked back and saw Elfman sprinting toward her. There were at least a dozen other cloaked figures surrounding the pasture, the dust from their arrival settling around them.

The man above her stepped from the circle. Lisanna pushed herself up and kicked at his legs before he could attack. He dodged and cursed at her, but she'd already transformed into her cat form. She lunged at him, swiping at his chest with her long, sharp claws.

The cloaked figure wasn't fast enough. Her claws sliced through the flesh of his chest, and he collapsed, clutching his shirt. Lisanna's paws came back bloody.

She turned and looked for Elfman, but he was already surrounded by cloaked figures, fending him off in his lizard form. "Get the shepherd!" he yelled, hoisting one enemy into the air and throwing him onto another. Lisanna nodded and wings unfurled from her back. She flew toward the lonely cottage, from which a small yellow light had just flicked on.

Her feet hit the concrete slab outside the door so hard it sent a shock through her legs. She banged on the wood with her fist, looking around for any other cloaked figures. "Lowell!" she cried. "Lowell, it's Lisanna, open up! You're in danger, I need to get you out of here! Lowell!"

Lisanna tried the knob and threw the door open, blinking in the bright light from the inside. She gasped at the scene before her: shelves cluttered with bottles full of disgusting, squirming _things_, skeletal herbs hanging from the ceiling, a table in the center of the room piled high with lethal instruments of torment, some of which were stained brick-red. Worst of all was the smell of rotting meat coming from the corpses suspended with the herbs, all lit up starkly in the bright white light. In the center of it was Lowell, staff gripped like a weapon in both hands, and beside him stood a man dressed in a black cloak, hood down to reveal a bald brown head and thick black beard.

The cloaked man gave her a smile as sharp as any of the blades on the table, and lifted his hand in one long, elegant motion. Suddenly, Lisanna was paralyzed, her legs gave out under her, she couldn't stop the fall, she couldn't bring her hands out to cushion the blow. Her head hit the floor, and she noticed it was all stained with blood before it turned to black.

* * *

Bixlow blinked at the foamy bottom of his tankard. Wasn't it just full of ale a second ago? He shook his head and slid off the bar stool, lurching forward when the room spun around him. A slim pair of shoulders slipped under his arm—Fried, scowling the way he did before a lecture.

"Why is it," he began, "that every time I turn my head you somehow manage to drink yourself into incoherency?"

"'Cause y'turn your head e'ery time the barmaid walks by to refill my drink," Bixlow slurred with a lecherous grin in Mirajane's direction. His babies swung haphazardly around his head, singing, "Another drink! Drink!"

"Amusing," Fried retorted, though he was clearly not humored in the slightest. He groaned as he hoisted Bixlow onto his feet. "Come on, it's time to go home. I think you've had enough to drink."

Bixlow snorted, snatching his arm from Fried's support, only for the floor to shift under his feet. He caught himself on the bar, blinking the room back into focus. Everything was so bright between the slits of his mask, the soft glowing souls of the dead and the blinding brilliance of the living only augmented by the alcohol buzzing in his system. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to block out the light and reign in the power seeping through his pupils. No one was affected by his Figure Eyes while the mask was on, but they tended to act up when he was drunk—which could get problematic if the mask flew off in a brawl. He let Fried help him to his feet again. "Fine," he growled. "Let's go home."

Fried heaved him toward the door, stopping only to answer the barmaid's inquiry concerning the whereabouts of her siblings. "I saw Lisanna talking to Nab earlier," he told her. "Then she left. I haven't seen Elfman all day."

"I'm worried," Mirajane confided, biting her lip nervously. "It's getting late. They would have told me if they were taking a mission."

"Didja try askin' Evergreen?" Bixlow drawled. "Maybe she's keepin' your brother occupied."

Fried punched his gut with forcefulness between playful and serious—a warning shot. "Don't listen to him," he said. "He's drunk off his ass."

"As for your sister," the seith mage continued, undeterred, "I dunno about her, but if you ever need someone t'keep her occupied, I'd be happy to oblige."

"Bixlow!" Fried snapped. An angry red blush flashed across Mirajane's cheeks.

"What? It's a _complement_. She's hot," he garbled. His babies chirped, "Hot! Hot!"

"I'm so sorry about this," Fried huffed. "I really need to get him home before any more words come out of his mouth. If I see Lisanna or Elfman, I'll tell them you're looking for them."

"Thank you," Mirajane said, nodding. Bixlow wasn't sure if she was thanking him for carrying the message or taking him away.

"'Nough with the flirting," Bixlow complained, stumbling toward the door. "I think I'm gonna hurl. 'N not from the beer, if y'know what I mean."

Fried glared at him and began guiding him toward the exit. "You're an ass, you know that?" he muttered as he pulled the door open. "A complete and total—"

"Hey, looky there," Bixlow interrupted, pointing at the gate. "It's the elf guy the barmaid was lookin' for. Hey, Elfguy!" The tiki dolls chorused behind him, "Elfguy! Elfguy!"

"Oh, no," Fried whispered, growing still when his eyes landed on the approaching man. He tugged Bixlow back inside and practically threw him into a chair, hurrying over to the door as Elfman stepped through the threshold, blocking most of Bixlow's view. All he could see was Elfman's face, which was pale and haunted and dirty except for two clean tracks running down his cheeks.

Mirajane cried out from across the room. The last remaining customers in the guild went silent as Elfman shuffled on, all the way to the bar where Mirajane was frozen, hands clasped over her mouth, blue eyes wide and horrified. A crowd gathered around them. Bixlow saw Elfman lay something on the counter. He shifted for a better view and caught the pale shape of a slender white foot.

He could hear Mirajane wailing over the confused murmurs: "Oh my God! Oh my God! Elfman, what happened?! _What happened_?!"

Her brother was vacant, unable to answer. Fried's voice boomed out instead. "Mira, she's alive," he said somewhere among the crowd. "She's alive."

Makarov suddenly appeared beside Bixlow, his old wrinkled face aged with solemnity. He hobbled forward, parting the group without a word. Without the bodies blocking his sight, the entire scene was laid out before Bixlow.

The barmaid's younger sister laid on the counter in utter stillness, unsoiled but for the blood on her fingers and matted in her white hair. Fried removed his fingers from her small limp wrist as Makarov approached. Mirajane hovered over the body on the counter, afraid to touch anything, afraid to interfere, afraid of the worst. Elfman just stood off to the side, bloody and dirty and defeated, shoulders slumped, big hands hanging by his sides.

Makarov climbed onto the bar and inspected the unconscious girl for a few long moments. Then he turned to the brother. "What happened?"

"I…we…" Elfman let out a shuddering breath, started over. "Lisanna found this job. For a shepherd outside of town. I went with her and when we got there…we were attacked by these guys in robes. Black robes. There were a dozen of them. Lisanna went to protect the shepherd in his cottage, and…and I fought the guys. They were mages, strong ones, so it took a long time. Some of them escaped, I don't know how many, they took their comrades with them. They disappeared in a cloud of dust. I hurried back to the cottage and found Lisanna…" He crumbled, a tear falling from the tip of his nose. "Lisanna was laying on the ground, so cold, so still. There were all sorts of…_things_ around the cottage. Evil things. I couldn't find the shepherd. The bastard must have been in on it. It was an ambush, a trap, and I don't know what they…what they did to her. I have no idea."

Makarov hummed and looked once more at the girl. He reached out and took her hand, rubbing the smooth white fingers between his own shriveled palms. "She's ice cold," he said. "But she's breathing and she has a pulse. There's something…wrong, here. I just…I don't know what. I've never seen anything like this."

"There's nothin' to see," Bixlow shouted. Everyone turned to him, some eyes wide, some eyes narrowed, most just surprised that he was speaking at all. His babies chirped, "Nothing to see!" Fried looked livid. He stepped forward, perhaps to take him outside where he couldn't interrupt the mournful proceedings, but Makarov put a hand on his chest, holding him back.

"Wait. Say what you mean, Bixlow," the old man permitted.

"There's nothin' there," Bixlow said, struggling to come up with the right words in his alcohol-addled brain. "No…glow. She ain't glowin'."

"Glowing?"

"Yeah. Like…" Bixlow made a vague, finger wagging gesture with his hands. "Glowin'. Her body's all dark inside. There's no…soul. That's it. She ain't gotta soul anymore."

"Her _soul_ is missing?" Mirajane repeated. She turned to Makarov. "Is that possible?"

"Hypothetically," Makarov pondered. "I don't know much about seith magic. Bixlow, you're saying that you usually see glowing…souls in people, but you don't see one in Lisanna anymore?"

"That's right."

"You're sure?"

"One hundred and ten percent," Bixlow nodded, frowning. "What's lyin' on the counter there is nothin' but her body. That girl's soul is gone."


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

Porlyusica wasn't happy. But then, no one crowded in her little dwelling was.

Dawn was stretching across the horizon when they knocked on the witch's door, Elfman carrying Lisanna carefully in his arms. Porlyusica answered them with a snarl and a sharp tongue, but when she noticed the urgency of the situation she stepped aside and let them enter.

She lit candles and directed Elfman to lay Lisanna down on the freshly tousled bed. Porlyusica was still dressed in a conservative white nightgown, the kind that buttoned all the way up to her chin and fell heavy like a curtain at her feet. Her pale pink hair cast two long shadows on her face as she poised the yellow flame of a match over the wick of a lopsided green candle. She strode over and handed the tin carrier to Mirajane. "Hold that over her," she ordered. "Don't let the wax drip."

Mira nodded and lowered the candle so it illuminated Lisanna's body. Porlyusica leaned over her and gently touched the matted blood in her hair, probed for the cut. Her frown deepened. The girl was cold, colder than a corpse, but she still breathed, and cold blood dribbled from her head. "What happened?" she inquired expressionlessly, standing to gather materials for the head wound. Elfman relayed the story as she picked gauze and herbs from her cabinet and dressed Lisanna's injury.

When Elfman finished, Makarov stepped in. "One of my seith mages said her soul is gone," he commented stoically. His eyes pleaded with Porlyusica, begging for hope. "What can we do?"

The witch sighed. "There's not much I _can_ do," she admitted. "Her body is healthy, with the exception of the head wound. If her soul is indeed missing, which does seem to be the case, there's nothing I can do but keep her that way until we find it."

"Find her soul?!" Elfman cried. "But it was taken away! How are we even supposed to find something like that?"

"Don't snap at me!" Porlyusica barked. "I've no idea. But until you do, she'll stay this way. Comatose."

"What…what happens if we can't?" came Mirajane's small voice from the corner. "If we can't find it? What will happen?"

"It depends." Porlyusica looked sternly at them. "Her body will probably hold up for a while. But eventually it will begin to deteriorate. Without a soul…it's unlikely she'll live much longer than a few years."

"Please," Mira sobbed, "we just got her back."

"What do you want me to do about that?!" Porlyusica snapped. "It's not like I can snap my fingers and make her better. I can't go out and find her soul for you. If you really want her to survive, you'll go find the people responsible and rescue her soul yourselves!"

Makarov put a firm hand on her bony shoulder, a reminder of what she was dealing with. Silent tears dripped from Mira's chin. Elfman's fists were clenched. The witch turned her head from them. Humans. She forgot how fragile they were in times of crisis.

"I'll take care of her body," she said. "I'll make sure nothing happens to her."

"Mirajane will stay and assist you," said Makarov. He crooked a finger at Elfman. "We'll go back to the guild, put together a task force. We'll get Lisanna back, whatever it takes."

Porlyusica watched the brother and sister embrace. The girl wiped the tears from her cheeks as the men left, straightened her shoulders, and turned to the witch with a stern, stoic curve to her mouth. "What can I do?"

"Help me set up a cot," Porlyusica groaned, standing. Her knees ached and already she was fatigued. "So I can rest. I'll set one up for you, too, if you'd like."

"That would be lovely," Mirajane murmured in reply. She bowed her head. "Thank you. For helping us. I don't know if I've ever told you that."

Porlyusica shrugged. "No one ever does. Gratitude is often overshadowed by panic and anger and sorrow. But I don't take it personally. Humans are an ungrateful breed, but they make up for it through their compassion."

In spite of herself, Mirajane smiled a little. "I think that's the first nice thing I've heard you say about humans."

"I'm not overly fond of your kind. Don't get used to it. Now, what are you standing there twiddling your thumbs for? Help me get these cots out of the closet, if you want a place to sleep!"

* * *

Bixlow moaned, shutting his eyes against the morning light as more somber guild members entered the hall. Fried tossed him a vile look, one that the recipient didn't see but sensed nonetheless.

"Don't look at me like that," he snarled, peeking up at Fried with acid in his voice. "I'm in pain." His babies chirped, "Pain! Pain!" quietly around him.

"You're hung over," Fried scoffed. "You go through this every weekend, I don't see how you're not immune to it yet."

"Don't act all high and mighty. You ain't exactly a dry county. Besides, I wanted to stay home this mornin' but _someone_ dragged me to the guild anyway."

"Because Lisanna Strauss' soul is _missing_, Bixlow," Fried said incredulously. He added, "And you're our best seith mage," but the unspoken words were tagged on at the end: _She's our nakama. Care a little more_.

Bixlow shut his mouth and rested it on his arms, curling into a turtle-shell stance. Sure, the Strauss girl was part of the guild, but would she give a damn if his soul was missing? Would anyone, besides the Raijinshuu? The only time he'd ever addressed her was to order a drink. He'd had more fulfilling conversations with his toaster.

But then, he supposed this toaster wasn't part of Fairy Tail. Despite his detachment from the actual members, Bixlow did harbor a certain pride for his guild, and this abduction was an attack on them. While even this line of thinking didn't launch him into throes of rage, it did provide him with enough motivation to stop complaining and stay. Besides, there was plenty of rage in the air. The guild could use some level heads.

Bixlow snorted to himself. It was a sad day when it was up to him to speak reason.

Evergreen slinked into the conversation, shooting Bixlow a disdainful toss of her bushy brown hair. "Maybe he should go home. We've got Bab, over there."

"It's _Nab_," Bixlow growled. Hell, he may not talk to the other mages much, but at least he knew their damn names. Most of them. "And he works with animal souls, not human ones."

"There's a difference?"

"Huge." Bixlow sat up, rising from hibernation like a grizzly bear. "His magic is more like what Elfman uses. That Take Over shit." He winced when the babies piped, "Shit! Shit!" into the stony silence of the guild hall. They always favored vulgar words. Bixlow looked over at the other seith mage, who sat by the request board with red eyes and a pinched, serious face. "He probably won't be much help."

Someone bumped into him, roughly, nearly knocking him out of the stool. Bixlow opened his mouth and stared right into the vengeful eyes of Cana Alberona. She had a fistful of his shirt in her hand and threw him back onto the bar before he could get a word out. "At least he wants to be here," she snarled, shaking her head at him. He heard her mumble, "Jackass," under her breath as she walked away.

Fried and Evergreen both stared after her, but Bixlow could tell they weren't mentally defending him. They probably agreed with her. It put a sour taste in his mouth. It wasn't his fault she came in the conversation at the wrong time. She obviously hadn't heard him correct Evergreen. She didn't know what he was thinking, she couldn't read his mind. Maybe he was as worried and wrathful as the rest, but was good at not showing it. She wouldn't know. She didn't know him well enough to know.

_Bitch_.

Even in Bixlow's brain, the insult was half-hearted. He couldn't bring himself to mutter it out loud.

"Nab must be pretty messed up," Fried said to no one in particular. "He's the one who gave Lisanna that job, apparently. He saved it for her because he knew she was trying to scrape money together for Mira's birthday."

Bixlow didn't reply. He just settled back into his stool and hunkered down, grumpy and a little ashamed.

Makarov came back a few minutes later, without either of the Strauss girls, just Elfman looming over him like a giant sulky shadow. Everyone perked up at his entrance, eager for news, for instructions, for clues. No one here was looking for comfort, not from Makarov. The mages of Fairy Tail were hard people, each and every one, and they knew better than to go looking for consolation. The world rarely ever provided it.

Fairy Tail was full of doers. They wanted Lisanna back, and they knew solace would get them nowhere.

"Lisanna is staying with Porlyusica for now," Makarov began, climbing up onto the bar so everyone could hear him. He was tactful enough not to call it 'Lisanna's body' even though that's what it really was. "She'll be fine, as long as we can find her soul. Once we get her soul back into her body, she'll be back to normal."

"Alright!" Natsu cried out, raising an ignited fist. "Let's go find the bastards that took her!"

The crowd cheered along with him, that nervous energy finding a positive, vengeful release. Leave it up to the Salamander to rile a gathering.

"A task force will go to the pasture where Elfman and Lisanna were attacked," Makarov said. He pointed at the group of mages in the center. "Elfman, take Natsu, Erza, Lucy, Happy, and Gray to the scene. Do some research, look around, bring back any information you can find."

"Aye!" Happy chirped. The others nodded.

"Levy, you start looking up clues with what we know so far," Makarov ordered, pointing at the startled scholar. "Anything pertaining to souls, men in cloaks, sheep, sacrifice, anything at all. We'll narrow down your results with whatever else the task force can find."

"Right," said Levy, putting on her Gale Force reading glasses.

"Bixlow, you're our residential expert on human souls," Makarov continued, turning his wise old eyes to the masked man. "Help her."

"Aye-aye, cap'n," Bixlow said, shooting Makarov a loose two-fingered salute that he regretted immediately afterward. Like the little blue bookworm would need his help. By the end of the day, she'd probably know more about souls than he did. He caught her looking his way, and even though she shot him an apprehensive smile, he could tell that she was thinking she'd be better off without his interference. Looked like Black Steel Gajeel and the other two goofs were thinking the same.

Not that he was really obligated to do anything. _Help her_. What kind of guidance was that? Everyone else got big long paragraphs, freaking step-by-step instructions, he got two little words. _Help her_.

Help who? Bixlow had never really helped anyone in his life. His help got Laxus exiled, embarrassed Fried, made Evergreen snap his head off. He was never thanked for helping, if ever anyone trusted him to help.

The task force left a few minutes afterward, only pausing to group together and gather a few materials they might need—bags for samples, magnifying glasses, gloves. Detective things. Levy was already emerging from the back library where Makarov kept all his books on magic, arms piled high with manuscripts. She'd also sent Jet and Droy to Magnolia's public library to clean the shelves of any reference to souls and sacrifice. She didn't look in Bixlow's direction again. She just crouched over her books and began scribbling words down on paper, her glasses flashing, Gajeel and Pantherlily peering curiously over her shoulders.

"Aren't you going to help her?" Evergreen asked, stirring a glass of ice water with a straw. No one was drinking alcohol, and Cana wasn't serving it.

"She doesn't need my help," Bixlow replied. "And if she does, she'll come ask for it. I'll only get in her way."

"How very humble of you," said Evergreen, taking a sip from the straw. Bixlow narrowed his eyes at her and considered knocking the water off the counter, onto her silky green blouse, but refrained.

"Bixlow," Fried interrupted, in a way that said he was leading up to a heavy question, "how long do you think we have? To find Lisanna's soul, I mean."

The seith mage exhaled through his nose, thinking. "Well, it depends. If they put her in a soul glass, she's pretty much preserved until they use her for the sacrifice, which is who-knows-when. But if they screwed it up—and catching a soul from a living thing is tricky business, believe me—then she'll float around aimlessly until she can't remember who she is anymore, or what she's supposed to be doin'. She'll literally scatter in the wind until there's nothin' to her anymore. Poof. Gone."

"How long is that?" Fried asked over the babies' chorus of, "Poof! Poof! Gone!"

"A few days. Maybe a week, if she's real feisty. If her body was dead, there'd be the possibility of her becomin' a ghost with this kind of intrigue surrounding her situation, but since she's still got a beating heart, that ain't gonna happen. And you wouldn't want it to. Ghosts are always miserable."

"I hope they find her," Evergreen murmured, staring at the ice clinking around in her glass.

"Me, too," Fried agreed. He glanced over his shoulder at the bar, a habit he'd acquired, but the barmaid wasn't there to meet his eye. He looked back down at his hands.

Bixlow only shrugged.

* * *

Lisanna was in a dark place, but it was warm and comfortable. She was lulled by a gentle rocking, a softness all around her, like she was cocooned in the world's plushest feather-bed. Her mind was pleasantly thoughtless, buzzing contently, almost in a drugged state. She was high on luxury.

Then there was a crack, a shattering sound, loud and roaring in her ears. A blinding glare of light that burned her all over, sucked her into attention. Everything around her was spinning out of control, there was so much to look at all around her, and no matter where she turned she was bumped by a passing breeze, brushed by a spirit, by a dust mote in the air, a particle of garlic breath. She was reeling, and then she could see colors, she could see the blue of the sky and the green of the grass and the angry red-peach of faces around her, cursing, shoving her away with their loud screeching voices, nudging her with the flapping of their black cloaks.

Lisanna experienced a moment of sublime clarity—Elfman! These men had attacked her and Elfman, she had to get away, she had to run away, but she couldn't run, she had no legs, no feet to carry her. She twisted and turned, learning to swim through the air, wriggling from hands that couldn't touch her, hiding from eyes that couldn't see her. Another face entered the mix, this one cold and calm and brown, silver eyes locking down on her with intense directness. Lisanna struggled with the motions, a baby rocking for momentum, as he reached into his cloak and pulled out a smooth black bottle with a round bottom. She wanted to scream, but there was no mouth, no voice to shout.

Just as he uncorked the bottle, something in Lisanna clicked—maybe she was propelled by a sudden burst of desperation, of panic—and she shot into the sky, launched like a rocket, slung by a catapult.

Once the alarm left her, the flying was easy. She could stretch for miles, she could reach out and touch everything around her all at once. She was shapeless, she was weightless; she was something more than air, less than a cloud. She was sunlight streaming through a window, she was pollen riding on the breeze.

She was freedom.


	4. Chapter Three

_**Author's Note:** Hellooo there! It's been a while. I'd like to thank everyone for the great feedback! A review recently brought it to my attention that the value of Fiore's currency in my story is a bit low; I was using the American dollar instead of the Japanese Yen, which is what Mashima intended. Therefore, I've gone back and updated the job request's reward. That is all. :)_

* * *

**Chapter Three**

"So this is it?"

Gray's question flopped face-first in the grass as the six of them stood in a straight line, looking out into the pasture beyond the gray little cottage under a maple tree. They'd been standing that way in silence for a good minute, after Elfman had just stopped walking.

"Yeah," the man in question grumbled. "This is it."

Erza put a gauntleted hand on Elfman's arm. "Walk us through what happened again."

So he did, his voice slow and monotone as he walked them down to the pasture where he'd been attacked, showed them where Lisanna had stood, brought them to where he'd found her body. He stared at the whitewash door of the cottage as he finished up. There was a big blood smear across its surface.

"We'll divide up the tasks," Erza said once he was finished. "Natsu and Happy, you two walk around the pasture where Lisanna was. Try and figure out what she was crouching to look at before the attack. Elfman and I will try to hunt down the sheep and see what's in the farther pasture near the tree line. Gray and Lucy, you two inspect the cottage."

They split. Elfman and Erza jogged their way toward the tree line. Natsu and Happy scrambled down the hill toward the spot where Elfman fought the cloaked men. Gray and Lucy stared at the bloody entrance to the cottage, apprehensive.

"You go first," said Lucy.

"Why me?"

"Because what Elfman described was pretty disgusting, and I'm a _lady_."

Gray ran his eyes up and down Lucy's revealing outfit. "You don't exactly dress like a lady, do you?"

"You're one to talk. Just open the door."

He scoffed, but obeyed, then reeled back as soon as the first wave of heat from inside hit his face, coughing with his sleeve over his mouth. Lucy gagged and covered her own mouth and nose, looking incredulously at the door. "What is that _smell_?"

Gray tentatively kicked the door open further, grimacing at what he saw inside. "Elfman wasn't exaggerating," he said, voice nasally as he plugged his nose against the stench. Flies swarmed around the carcasses of animals hanging from the ceiling, giving off the horrendous odor. Some of them were still a gray-pink; two or three were literally rotted, green and black. Gray gathered his courage and stepped through the threshold, eyes watering at the smell. There was blood splattered all on the floor, and little tuffs of pink wool. "Found the missing sheep," he proclaimed.

"Aries would cry," Lucy remarked, joining him inside the detestable little house. In the center of the room was a rickety wooden table that was also dyed red, piled high with cruel blades and thick needles and instruments of torture they couldn't even name. Shelves lined the walls, filled with heavy leather-bound books, bottles of warped glass, jars full of eyes and wispy black spirits and liquids and powders of every color and consistency. Gray opened a book and winced at the diagrams inside, bodies cut open neatly numbered and illustrated in dull black ink. He closed it again and set it on the shelf.

"We should get this back to Levy and Bixlow," he decided, looking around. "Let's see what they can make of it."

"How can we take all of this?" Lucy inquired, peering cautiously into a bottle with some sort of worm suspended in yellow jelly. "I don't know if we can even touch some of this stuff."

Gray sighed. "We'll take the books, they're probably important. We can probably manage to take some of the…devices. Whatever's in these jars, we'll catalogue and bring to them. Anything we don't recognize will go in a bag."

"That's a lot of jars," Lucy said wearily, shuddering when one round eye seemed to focus on her from the other side of the glass.

"We'd better get started."

When Lucy turned around, Gray was slipping his shirt over his head. "Hey!" she cried, grabbing the fabric and pulling it back over his chest. "You don't want to _disrobe_ in here! There's no telling what kind of fluids you'll get all over you!"

"Damn, you're right."

Lucy shook her head and pulled a pen and paper from her bag. "You get started on putting stuff in the bags. I'll summon Loke and he'll help me catalogue."

"Yeah, did you tell Loke about this yet?"

"Mmhmm, told him as soon as I found out. He was pretty shocked about it, said he wanted to help in any way he could." Lucy pulled the key from the key ring on her belt. "Open, the Gate of the Lion! Leo!"

Loke appeared in a bright flash of light. He staggered when the stench of the cottage hit him and he saw the carcasses hanging from the ceiling. "What the hell—?"

"We're in the place where Lisanna's soul was taken," Gray explained. He handed Loke a bag. "We need your help. Start putting books and those things on the table in here. Lucy and I are cataloguing what's on the shelves."

Lucy shot the exhibitionist a dirty look before handing him a legal pad and pen, irritated that he'd take advantage of her Spirit's obliviousness, but knowing full well she'd do the same if their roles were reversed. No one wanted to touch the bloody weapons on the table, or the dark manuscripts.

Loke took the bag, still absorbed in the scene around him. "This was where it all went down? This place is…beyond belief. I've never seen anything like it."

"It's disturbing," Lucy agreed.

"Poor Elfman. He had to pull his sister out of this mess."

"Poor Lisanna," Lucy said. She didn't elaborate.

They began cataloguing while Loke gingerly collected paraphernalia, wrinkling his nose at it distastefully. They hadn't gotten very far when Natsu poked his head inside the cottage, scarf wrapped around his sensitive Dragonslayer nose to protect it from the rank decomposition.

"Hey, guys," he called, "you might wanna come look at this."

The three of them followed him outside, grateful for the fresh air. Natsu walked them down to the center of the pasture, where Happy, Elfman, and Erza were standing.

"We couldn't find any sheep," Erza told them, hands planted firmly on her hips. "Either they fled from all the commotion, or the cloaked people came back for them."

"There were only eight carcasses in the cottage," Gray said.

"That's how many were missing according to that bastard Lowell," Elfman rumbled. "The other five must have gotten away."

"Happy and I found something, though," Natsu put in, pulling the scarf off of his face. He pointed a circle in the grass, about the circumference of a hula-hoop, everything inside it dead. There was a ring of black ash on the outside. "These are scattered through the pasture. There are thirteen of them."

"That's where all the people appeared from," Elfman said.

"Yeah, but that's not the weird part," said Natsu.

"I flew up to get a better view of them," Happy explained, "and I saw that they form a perfect circle around the cottage."

"What?" everyone cried, surprised.

Happy nodded. "I think whoever planned this knew what was going to happen, that some mage was going to come knocking on the door of the cottage. That's always where the soul-extraction was to take place."

"My guess is that they were only expecting one mage," Natsu said. "That they were surprised when both of you showed up and didn't really know what to do. I think that if it had just been Lisanna, things could have gotten a lot worse. They could have pulled her inside and put her on that table, done whatever they wanted for as long as they wanted."

Loke clapped a hand on Elfman's shoulder. "You probably saved Lisanna's life, man."

Elfman shoulders shook with little sobs. "It doesn't matter," he sniveled, wiping snot from his nose with the back of his hand. "Lisanna's soul is still missing. I should have been a man and gone to help her."

"You were fighting off eleven other guys," Lucy said. "Lisanna can take care of herself. She's not helpless. The only reason she's even in danger is because she was ambushed. You were both ambushed."

"We're going to find her, Elfman," Natsu declared. "We lost Lisanna once. We aren't going to lose her again."

A single tear fell from the shadow of Elman's brow into the dead grass at their feet.

* * *

Bixlow's hang over was just beginning to subside when, out of the blue, he heard a frustrated screech and something solid and square hit him right on the back of the head with enough force to send his entire upper body crashing onto the counter top of the bar.

Evergreen burst into uncontrollable laughter, loud and out-of-place in the somber guild hall.

He blinked bright stars out of his eyes before he turned and saw a thick leather-bound volume laying open on the floor. His head pulsed angrily, pain radiating from under his hood.

The little bookworm girl came scampering up to him, hands clasped over her mouth in horror. Her wild blue hair was secured in a red bandana, but wiry strands still poked their way out, and her glasses were askew. "Oh, my god," she whispered. "I am so, so sorry. I don't know what came over me, I just—"

Bixlow groaned as he bent down and retrieved the book for her. He handed it back. "You threw this at me?"

"No!" Levy exclaimed, her small hands fidgeting nervously along the book cover. "Well, yes, I mean, I guess I technically did, but not on purpose! I threw it, but not at _you_. I wasn't aiming at anything."

"Good arm," Bixlow commended. His head blared a horn. "Don't worry. I've been hit harder." His babies confirmed the statement.

"Right," Levy said. "Still, I'm sorry."

"Why're you hurlin' books around, anyway?" Bixlow asked curiously. He peeked at the spine, reading the faded gold lettering. "'_Understanding Souls, Ghosts, and Other Spiritual Apparitions: a Manual for Beginners_.'"

"That sounds riveting," Evergreen wheezed sarcastically, recovering from her fit.

Levy huffed. "It's the most useless thing that's ever been printed. It's all about what to do if you think your house is haunted. And everything is either like this or is so advanced that all it does is make me confused. I've never studied seith magic before."

"Y'know, I'm kind of an expert," Bixlow said. His babies agreed, "Expert! Expert!"

"Could you help me?" Levy cried hopefully. "I can't figure out a lot of this positive versus negative energy stuff, and a lot of books are contradicting. Also, they call the same equipment by different names, and there's so many different ways to do things depending on the culture. I don't think I can stomach everything at once."

"Are you sure you'll be able to stomach _him_?" Evergreen said, jabbing a finger in Bixlow's direction.

"I'll help. The old man said to, but I didn't know if you'd need it." Bixlow stood, ignoring his partner, and rubbed the back of his head. "And y'know, for future reference, next time you need to ask me somethin', just come up and ask. Black Steel over there doesn't need to start chuckin' heavy objects at people's heads."

"Yeah," Evergreen agreed. "He could've hit me."

Levy blushed, but she smiled and hugged the book to her chest as she led Bixlow back to her table of books. He thought he saw her give Gajeel a discreet thumb's up.

* * *

The task force finished cataloguing everything in the hut, grabbing anything that they couldn't identify. They also took samples of the dead grass and ash, and wrote down detailed descriptions of the sheep corpses' states of decay.

"I think this is the most thorough detective work we've ever done," Erza remarked.

"And nothing's burnt down yet," Lucy added cheerfully, shooting a sly glance at Gray and Natsu, who were about to rip each other's heads off. Erza followed her gaze and immediately the two rivals were getting along just fine.

"Let's hurry and get this back to the guild," Elfman urged. They began picking their way through the meadows back into town, stopping every once in a while to converse with Lowell's neighbors. None of them claimed to know him very well, and unanimously agreed that he was an unsuspicious little man who kept to his herd quietly. The most helpful information they got was from a plucky ten-year-old boy who'd apparently tried to sneak into the cottage on a dare, only to be chased away by the shepherd.

"I've never been so scared in my life," the boy claimed. "He was, like, frothing at the mouth, running after me with that staff up in the air, telling me that he'd bash my head in if he ever saw me on his land again. Mr. Lowell was always pretty nice to us, let us pet his sheep and stuff. After that he never talked to us again, and he'd yell at us to go away if we went anywhere near his sheep. Said that we'd invaded his privacy, that he couldn't trust us."

"You never tried to sneak another peek inside?" Gray pressed.

The boy shook his head. "No, it really freaked me out. Besides, my parents were super mad about it, made me go back and apologize with a muffin basket. Mr. Lowell wouldn't touch it. Then me and my friends ate it, and my parents got even madder."

"Our son learned his lesson," the mother said, pinching him by the ear. "It shocked me then that Lowell was so worked up about it, but he _is_ old. You know how the elderly are about their homes. He always seemed so…placid, I never figured he'd be into bad business. I never thought a man like him would have anything to hide. Guess I was wrong."

They weren't in high hopes when they brought their findings back to Fairy Tail. Everyone wanted to know how it went, but the task force wasn't prepared to say. They deflected most of the interrogations and went to find Levy.

The solid script mage had her own quadrant in the back of the guild hall, at least three tables piled high with books and papers and scribbles galore. Jet and Droy had long since collapsed from the exhaustion of cheering her on, and laid in a heap on the floor. People were gathered anxiously around Levy, waiting for a spark of inspiration in her brown eyes, but Gajeel's brooding presence in the corner was a sufficient barricade. It kept some of the pressure from her tiny shoulders.

Along with only Jet and Droy, Gajeel seemed to have let Bixlow into the barrier. He sat across the table from Levy, and, although it was clear he wasn't reading a word, every once in a while Levy would look up, ask him a question, and he'd answer it.

They both looked up when Elfman dumped the bags on the nearest empty table. Levy's hand still scratched along the paper, blotting ink over some of her cramped handwriting. "Tell me everything," she demanded.

And they did, reciting their discoveries from the cottage, the pasture, and the neighbors. A crowd had gathered around by the time they were finished, as Gajeel was also too engrossed to maintain his wall of intimidation. Everyone was silent when Natsu, the primary storyteller, trailed off.

"Thirteen," Bixlow muttered, scratching his chin. "That's a lot."

"What do you mean?" Levy asked. Over the course of their partnership, she'd been surprised at the depth of the knowledge he had for his field, and drank up his offhanded comments eagerly. Most of what he'd regurgitated clearly came with experience; seith magic was such a vague topic that many books didn't adequately discuss. Bixlow was very helpful, but he always required a little bit of prodding, guarded like an oyster protecting its pearl. Levy assumed he was just shy—although previously _that_ was never an adjective she would have applied to Bixlow—but Gajeel suspected more accurately that Bixlow's magic was a darker gray than he was willing to admit, and he was carefully avoiding phrases that could possibly incriminate him in the future. The dragonslayer didn't mention his observations to anyone—who was he to judge, anyway?

"Souls aren't stable beings," Bixlow explained, "so they don't like order. They're all about freedom and fleetingness and chaos. That's why when a seith mage…well, I guess you could say we 'employ' the souls—when a seith mage puts the soul in the container, it's always in odd numbers. Three, usually, or five if the mage is pretty powerful."

At this, Bixlow's five dolls each rattled off a number in their tiny voices for elaboration.

"What about thirteen?" Levy insisted.

"That's unheard of," said Bixlow with a shrug. "Groups have managed to control seven souls at once, but never more than that. It's a lot of chaos to deal with. Plus you gotta be careful the souls don't get so organized that they fuse together to make somethin' more dangerous."

"Like a demon?" Gray said wearily.

"Nah, demons subsist on souls, they aren't made up of 'em. But they could create an apparition, kind of like a really big, solid ghost. It's hard to explain." Bixlow shook his head. "But we're gettin' off topic. What I was gonna say is that thirteen is unusual 'cause that's a lot of spiritual power flyin' around. It could get outta control pretty quick."

"But it wasn't thirteen _souls_," Pantherlily, who was seated beside Gajeel at the table in the corner, pointed out. "It was thirteen _mages_."

"Right," Bixlow said, "but they were doin' a soul-extraction ceremony, it sounds like. And that's not easy. It takes serious manpower. Those thirteen mages were dealin' with souls—souls that were extracting Lisanna's from her body. They weren't usin' containers, which is…crazy. That's, like, handlin' uranium with your bare hands crazy."

"Crazy, crazy!" his babies cheered.

"They weren't, though," said Elfman. "They were fighting me."

"Which only added to the chaos, which is what souls feed on," Bixlow explained. "Your fight probably attracted souls for miles. Sure, the work might've been sloppy, but really a soul-extraction ceremony only needs one person to guide it. With one this big, maybe two people. The rest is all generating enough power to do it. Which is why I'm guessin' they had thirteen mages. Still, though, that seems like overkill. For one person, they wouldn't've needed more than five."

"Maybe they were playing it safe," Macao suggested.

Bixlow let out a bark of a laugh. "People like this don't play it safe," he sneered. "Besides, this is the exact opposite. Safe would've been usin' as few people as possible. See, all that chaos, it can get to your head." He tapped the temple of his mask for emphasis. "Thirteen people? Let's say…without containers…they can maybe control three souls at a time, if they're good. And then there's that one person tryin' to guide it to Lisanna, tryin' to find that balance between order and disorder where the souls will do what he wants, but won't organize themselves into something bigger. That's heavy stuff, serious brain-buster. Somethin' that would've screwed up his psyche. I mean, when you control a soul, it's like you're…sharing your senses with it. It's like it's part of you. Think about that, about sharing your brain with that many other things, things that don't even really have complete, coherent thoughts."

"What you're saying is that this person was dispensable," Makarov said. "They burned through his brain and left him for dead."

"Doubt it," Bixlow said. "The ceremony wouldn't've succeeded if the guy's brain was oozin' from his ears by the time it was done. He wouldn't've had the mental capacity to pull through."

Makarov looked up. "So then…?"

"We're dealin' with someone who's already bonkers," Bixlow said, nodding. "Ain't got any sanity to lose."

The guild's eyes shifted collectively toward Bixlow's own babies, but no one said anything.

"I'd say you're dealin' with a cult," he continued. "A big one. Most of those mages'll be wiped out for a couple days, maybe less. Soul extraction, like I said, takes a lot out of you, even if you've got thirteen other mages workin' with you."

"Sounds like you know from experience," Macao remarked, raising an eyebrow.

Bixlow turned to him, frowning. "And if I do?"

"That's illegal, isn't it? Soul extraction?"

"Like you ain't ever done anything sketchy, playboy?"

The babies squeaked the accusation: "Playboy! Playboy!"

"That's enough," said Makarov, stepping between them. "It's time we refocus. This is not the time to get into petty quarrels. Lisanna's soul is missing. Let's find it."

Bixlow shot Macao a tongue-wagging smile before he departed with the others, leaving him and Levy back inside Gajeel's ominous bubble. The bookworm was already diving into the texts Elfman had dumped on her table. When she noticed Bixlow settling down again, she peeked out from over the top, eyes big and brown and inquisitive, like a puppy's.

"What?"

"Have you done it?"

"What?" he repeated, confused.

"Soul-extraction. Have you?"

Levy's eyes weren't critical. They were just curious. _You should read what they say about that, girlie_, he thought, but he offered her the truth anyway.

"Nah. Not from anything living."

Satisfied, Levy nodded and went back to her research.


	5. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

Levy demanded Bixlow's presence for most of the night. He stayed with the bibliophile, who devoured as much coffee as she did literature, and her Dragonslayer companion, who snoozed in the corner ominously. Finally, Bixlow told her that he was going home, rejected the flurry of questions that had convinced him to stay the last three times, and suggested that she, too, get some rest.

"This," he said, waving his arms around the mountains of books, "can't be good for you."

Gajeel made a noise from the corner, a grunt somewhere between agreement and amusement. Evidently he'd had a similar conversation with Levy before, and was anticipating her reaction to Bixlow's advice.

She just gave him a steely look over the rim of her glasses. "Lisanna's life depends on this. I won't rest until I figure it out," she declared. Then she dismissed him entirely, bidding him a goodnight from behind the pages of a thick manual.

Bixlow's lips pursed into a pout at his reprimand—just how many times were people going to imply that he didn't care about this Lisanna chick?—but even this challenging offense could not convince him to remain at the guild any longer. He was exhausted despite his brief, uncomfortable cat-naps, and probably wouldn't be much help until after a good two or three hours in bed. He decided he'd get up early the next morning to make it up to Levy, or Lisanna, or whoever the hell he was supposed to help.

The morning was bright. Bixlow blinked and sat up in bed. His mask was still on—he couldn't even remember laying down. He must really have been exhausted.

But, nonetheless, he was up early enough for redemption. Of course, Fried was already awake and in the midst of his ablutions—damn him, he was always making a racket at dawn. Bixlow yawned and trudged into the bathroom, where Fried was brushing his teeth. The rune mage looked baffled. "You're up!" he exclaimed as his roommate strode past, pulling the metal mask off of his face and rubbing out the patterns pressed into his cheek.

"Yup," Bixlow replied. He unceremoniously dropped the mask onto the counter and unzipped his pants to urinate. Fried averted his eyes and spit in the sink, evacuating the premises just as the steady yellow stream hit the toilet. The poor kid was such a prude that Bixlow could often invade the bathroom without a word or argument.

They walked to the guild once Bixlow was ready. Fried described his plans to visit Mirajane at Porlyusica's, to "bring her supplies and see how she's holding up." Bixlow rolled his eyes, but refrained from ridicule. Absently, he wondered if Evergreen had comforted Elfman last night. The couple had done their best to keep their fling relatively quiet, but naturally everyone knew. Fried and Bixlow hadn't seen much of their female partner, but then, Bixlow didn't think that Elfman was the kind of guy to look for tactile pleasure in times of despair. He was willing to bet that Evergreen offered and was shot down. He hoped she wasn't prideful enough to scold the poor guy for it.

When they arrived, Cana and Makarov were the only ones in the guild hall besides Levy and her posse. Everyone was gathered around the bookworm, who talked animatedly. She grinned when she spotted Bixlow over Jet's shoulder.

"There you are!" she exclaimed, pointing. Everyone whipped around to look at him. Fried raised his eyebrows.

"Is there something I should know?" he asked. "I don't think I've ever seen a woman so excited to see you."

"Yeah, it's freakin' me out, too," Bixlow murmured back.

Levy hopped off her bar stool and gallivanted over to them, clutching a notebook in her arms, the flock migrating with her. "Thanks to you, I figured out who has Lisanna," she said confidently, shoving the notebook in his face.

Bixlow felt claustrophobic. He took a step back and accepted the notebook, reading her spiral handwriting with some difficulty. "Phasm?" he read, confused. "Who the hell is Phasm?" The babies repeated his question with enthusiasm.

Levy grinned again, like she was hoping he'd ask. "It's a cult," she explained. "More specifically, a cult of at least one hundred followers who worship Spyrodon, one of the demons from the Book of Zeref."

"I've heard of Spyrodon," said Fried, snapping his fingers. "It's the thirteenth demon Zeref created. The Devourer of—"

"—Lost Souls," Levy finished. "It doesn't surprise me that you've heard of it, Fried. Spyrodon was sealed almost immediately after Zeref's demise. It's a very obscure demon, not like Deliora or Lullaby, who hibernated and prevailed for hundreds of years—although, Phasm's motives are probably closer to Erigor's than to Leon's group. Mass destruction. World domination. Et cetera."

"Where'd you find all this information?" Bixlow said, impressed. He'd never heard of any of it.

"All over," Levy replied. "Descriptions in some ancient texts about men in black cloaks who vanished in clouds of ash always appeared near descriptions of Spyrodon. I finally found a name in one of the books Natsu's team brought back. _Phasm_."

"Alright, so we have an idea of who took Lisanna," Cana began, "but how can we find them?"

"I'll admit, that's all deduction," Levy said. "But I'm confident that Phasm is attempting to unleash Spyrodon, and in order to do that I imagine they'll have to fuel him with some pretty powerful souls. That's where Lisanna comes in. Probably the rest of Fairy Tail, too. But why did they target us? My guess is convenience—we're close to where ever Spyrodon is sealed."

"Somewhere near Magnolia," Makarov muttered, scratching his chin, "large enough to conceal a powerful demon. The only place I can think of is—"

"—Mt. Hakobe," Levy said. She unfurled a map, which had a large red circle drawn around the tall mountain. "It's only about a day's journey. It's isolated, and large enough to keep Spyrodon buried for thousands of years."

"You are brilliant," Cana said, smiling.

"Go Levy-chan!" Jet and Droy cheered.

Master Makarov nodded. "Very good. Gajeel, Pantherlily, prepare a cart with supplies. You're accompanying Natsu's group to Mt. Hakobe to retrieve Lisanna's soul, as well as any other sacrifices they may have accumulated."

"Excellent," Gajeel grinned, cracking his knuckles. He patted Levy on the head and strode away, Pantherlily at his heels.

"Master!" Cana snapped. "The entire guild should go. We need to show these Phasm jerks who's boss."

"No. We need people here to protect the guild. Besides, getting so many people up a mountain will do more harm than good. This needs to be a condense mission, stealthy and quick. We'll worry about vengeance later. Now the important thing is finding and retrieving Lisanna's soul."

Cana couldn't argue with his logic. She pursed her lips and slinked away.

"Bixlow," Makarov said, turning to the seith mage. "Would you also like to accompany the task force? They could use your help."

"They won't," Bixlow disagreed. "Just tell 'em to look for colored bottles. That's where all the souls'll be. Other than that, I can't offer any assistance. Besides, Fried and I were just talkin' how Laxus hasn't come back from that mission he took a week ago. I think we should go out and start lookin' for him, get him up to speed and make sure he ain't…well, y'know…in the same situation as Lisanna."

Makarov paled and nodded. Evidently this thought hadn't yet occurred to him. "Right. Yes, that's a good idea."

Fried quirked an eyebrow at Bixlow as the congregation dissipated. "We weren't just discussing Laxus. And you know he wouldn't get taken down by the likes of these Phasm people."

"Still, it ain't a bad idea to go lookin' for him," Bixlow shrugged.

"You know he doesn't like it when we do that."

"Sure he does. It shows how much we care."

"We care, we care!" the babies assured.

"But why did you lie to the Master?" Fried persisted.

"Look, I don't wanna go on some stupid expedition to Mt. Hakobe, okay?" Bixlow growled, plopping down at a table. "It's a lotta climbing, and it's cold, and I don't play well with others."

Fried sighed. "It wouldn't hurt you to make some friends, you know."

"I got plenty of friends."

"Besides the Raijinshuu. And souls don't count."

"Now you're just bein' picky." Bixlow peered at him from behind his mask. "Besides, whoever said we were friends, hm?"

Fried's second sigh was accompanied with an exaggerated eye-roll, but he didn't respond. Their conversation was going nowhere. "Come on, let's go find Evergreen and start looking for Laxus. Unless, of course, you've changed your mind about _that_ friendship as well."

"'Course not. That is, if you're talkin' about Laxus. Me and Evergreen are both too nasty to be friends."

"That's actually one statement I'm inclined to believe."

* * *

They waited for Evergreen outside of Fairy Hills rather than apply to her for admittance, on Bixlow's fervent assertion. He'd had a "bad experience" at Fairy Hills once—no doubt trying to sneak in—and since then lived in terror of ever stepping foot in the place again. Fried's patience was wearing thin by the time she finally emerged in all her green finery.

"What are you two doing out here?" she quipped when she saw them, tossing her hair. "You look like two creepy stalkers."

"We were waiting for you," said Fried, shooting Bixlow a glare. "We're going to go track down Laxus and get him up to speed. Levy apparently found out who's kidnapped Lisanna, and they're looking for more souls. The Master was worried that Laxus might be a target."

"And you _waited_ to tell me this?! Why didn't you just buzz?!"

"We were tryin' to be courteous," Bixlow chimed in. "Givin' you time to put on your face, and whatnot."

"What's that supposed to mean, you imbecile?! Hey, don't you walk away from me when I'm talking to you! Come back here!"

Fried had already decided that the best course of action was to visit Mirajane to inquire on Laxus's whereabouts, since the lightning mage neglected to mention—probably purposefully—the location of the mission to any of his teammates. Evergreen and Bixlow were in agreement that this was also an excuse for Fried to check up on the poor barmaid and prey on her emotional vulnerability, an imaginary tactic—or so the rune mage insisted—for which they ruthlessly berated him the entire half-hour walk.

"Would you two just _shut up_?" he hissed as Porlyusica's little hut came into view. His face was glowing red, from embarrassment or anger, his tormenters couldn't tell. "Why do my motives always have to be so vile with you two? Why can't I just innocently want to make sure she's doing okay?"

"Hm," said Evergreen, adjusting her glasses, "someone's awfully defensive, is he not, Bixlow?"

"I'd say. No need to bite our heads off, man, we're just teasin'."

"Teasing, teasing!"

"I liked it better when you two were fighting with each other," Fried huffed, composing himself before he knocked on the witch's door.

The grumpy owner answered. "What do you want?" she said without bothering with pleasantries. Evergreen waved her fan in front of her face haughtily, silently conveying the depth of her disapprobation, but Bixlow grinned languidly at Porlyusica's cut-to-the-chase attitude. He'd always admired her when those piercing red eyes weren't trained on him.

Fried was unfazed. "We've come to speak with Mirajane."

"Of course you are," Porlyusica grumbled, ushering them inside. "Just make it quick. I hate having all this human stink in my house."

They piled in, and she closed the door behind them. The barmaid was stationed beside a bed in the back corner, where her sister lay lifeless under layers of blankets, gauze wrapped tightly around her head. Mirajane's eyes were bloodshot and bruised from lack of sleep. She whirled out of her seat when she saw them, an anxious flurry of maroon skirts and long white tresses.

"Did you find her?" she cried, running to Fried. Her hands fluttered like nervous pale birds around his arms. "What's the news? Please tell me you found something."

Fried gently grasped her elbow to steady her and guided her over to the side of Lisanna's bed. He took a seat across from her on the chair she'd just vacated. He gave her a detailed account of everything she'd missed, from the investigation of the pasture to the expedition to Mt. Hakobe.

"Makarov's assembled a team to find Phasm's lair," he explained. "Natsu, Lucy, Gray, Erza—they're all going. I believe he assigned Gajeel and Pantherlily to the team as well. They'll find her, I'm sure of it."

"What about Elfman?" Mirajane inquired urgently.

The Raijinshuu shared a glance. "We left before he'd received the news," Evergreen admitted. "He didn't get much sleep last night. He was pretty upset about…everything."

"You can't let him go," Mirajane said. "It's the only reason I'm not marching up to the guild right now and joining that task force. I know he'd demand to go, too. I can't bare it if something happened to both of them. Please, just make sure he stays safe."

Evergreen nodded. "We'll do our best."

"We also came here to ask you about Laxus," Bixlow segued. "We ain't seen him since before this whole mess, and we wanna make sure he's okay. D'you got any idea where he went?"

"Laxus…" Mirajane murmured, twirling her hair around her finger. "I think he took a mission in Balsam Town. It wasn't anywhere too far. He said he'd be gone for a couple days."

"He should be on his way back by now," Fried said. "We'll start on our way to Balsam Town. I doubt he's heard about what happened. Thank you, Mira."

"I hope you find him," she said.

Porlyusica, who'd remained a silent fixture against the wall until this point, opened the door and stared all of them down as they filed out of her dwelling. She closed the door behind them with a sigh, leaning her forehead against the wood. "Phasm," she whispered. "I should have guessed when she came to me without a soul. It's just been so long since they've made a move. I thought they were eradicated."

"You've dealt with these people before?" Mirajane exclaimed.

"Briefly, a long time ago," Porlyusica answered, turning around. "Even before I met Makarov. Phasm was trying to locate the resting place of the Devourer of Lost Souls, and it happened to be a town where I'd taken work. They terrorized the place, but eventually a guild stepped in and wiped most of them out. Together with the Rune Knights they captured every member. Or so they thought. I suppose others must have escaped and started an insurgency of their own."

"How powerful are they?"

"The Devourer is one of Zeref's most powerful demons," said Porlyusica. "More so than any of those Fairy Tail has defeated so far. The strength of Phasm, however, is indeterminate. The cult is relatively obsolete—but then, invisible doesn't mean weak. If they're making a move this bold, they've likely found the demon's seal and are confident of their victory."

"They've never fought Fairy Tail," said Mirajane.

"No," Porlyusica said with a small smile. "They haven't."

Mirajane ducked her head, lost in thought. Then she suddenly gasped and shot out of the bed, hand to her chest, eyes wide on her sister. Porlyusica blinked, alarmed. "What?! What is it, child, spit it out!"

Mira reached out and fell to the side of the bed, staring intently at her sister's body. "Lisanna…" she squeaked. "Lisanna, can you hear me?"

"What are you going on about?" the witch growled. She shuffled over and stopped when Mirajane raised a hand. Then, amazingly, she saw it.

The girl's left pinkie finger. It twitched.

* * *

When Lisanna stretched, she could touch the universe. She could stretch for miles and feel every atom around her. The blades of grass cut her, the drifting clouds soothed it like a balm. She could taste and smell the salt in the earth, the sweet honey of pollen riding on the breeze. She could hear the inner thoughts—no, the consciousness—of everything, she could hear every clicking beetle and screeching falcon and the deep, ancient thrum of the trees.

She could hear the others, too—the ones who brushed her, gently caressed her, nudged her like jellyfish, unobtrusive but insistent. Their whispers were soft, words on tiptoe, senseless syllables as scattered as dandelion fluff. Sometimes they welcomed her; other times, they were warnings. Lisanna swam through their cotton crowds and she absorbed them, took little bits, and she could feel them doing the same, pinching off tiny confetti fragments of her. If she resisted, more were drawn by her struggling. So Lisanna stopped resisting. She stopped finding reasons to struggle.

There was energy where Lisanna was going. It was a humming, giant beehive, or that's what it sounded like, felt like, only a thousand times bigger. Then she realized instantly—it was people. Their thoughts were loud shouts in the sky, thunder and lightning that rattled her core. Lisanna wanted to get away, but kept getting sucked back into the current, loosing herself in the vacuum. She tried clinging desperately to something—her name, just her name. But sometimes she couldn't remember what to call herself. Sometimes she didn't even realize there was anything to forget.

She was close to the city when she sensed it—a person right underneath her, so close he blotted out every other presence. Something wiggled inside her. A photograph fell off her shelf, cracking the glass, and she picked it up and recognized the face behind the spider-web fractures. This was someone she knew. The name crept from the crypt of her mind, echoing, and bringing light from the pitch darkness.

_Bixlow_.

His name brought with it a sudden urgency, a need to make his man see her. She couldn't think of why, but she needed this man—Bixlow Bixlow Bixlow—to notice her. She needed something from him. _Help_. She needed his help.

Bixlow. Help. Bixlow. Help. If she could remember those two words, if she could just hold on to that, then maybe things would start making more sense. That chant drove her from the current, made her a nudger, a shover, a propeller—aggressive. She could feel herself draining fast, her resolve was fading, but the mantra drove her forward.

_Bixlow, help_.

* * *

The Raijinshuu weren't looking long for their respected leader before Bixlow threw his hands up in the air and declared he was too tired to continue. "I'm going home to take a nap," he said, babies cheering after him, "Nap! Nap!"

"I don't see why you're tired. Levy's the one who did all the work," Evergreen remarked wryly. "And besides, wasn't it your idea to go looking for Laxus?"

"Hey! I did a lot, okay. I know I ain't the picture of empathy, but I'm freakin' sick of everyone marginalizing my contribution to fixin' this mess," replied Bixlow grumpily. "And it was my idea, but it's not like Laxus is actually in any danger. C'mon—it's _Laxus_. I was just usin' that as an excuse not to go on that expedition."

"Bixlow was at the guild late last night," Fried said in his defense. "And he was up early this morning. Give him a break. We'll continue our way to Balsam, and Bixlow can stay here on the off chance that we miss Laxus. If we don't find him by tomorrow, then we'll start panicking."

"Whatever. We're better off without your complaining, anyway," Evergreen said. She waved her fan. "If you don't mind, drop by the guild and keep an eye on Elfman. I agree with his sister. He shouldn't join that task force."

"Yeah, yeah, sure."

They separated. Bixlow was actually sorry to be rid of them, even Evergreen, but he truly was exhausted. A nap would do him good. He'd stop by the guild first, though, to talk to Elfman. Hopefully the task force would already have departed so he wouldn't even have to worry about it, and no one would could give him beef about joining. Really, he didn't see any reason he should. He barely knew Lisanna, and while she seemed alright, he wasn't about to go freeze his ass off for no good reason when the most qualified team in Fairy Tail was on the case. Plus, they all knew her intimately and were more dedicated to the cause. He'd only get in the way of their warpath.

Bixlow was halfway to the guild when he sensed it. A disturbance in the energy nearby, a blip that even confused his babies, caused them to hesitate. Bixlow squinted, trying to identify it. Souls were harder to see when he wasn't drunk; they were less like the blotch of light after a camera flash and more like an annoying gnat in his periphery. He lifted his mask and activated his Figure Eyes for better clarity.

A big bright soul was hurling toward him in a very uncharacteristic manner, punching right through its passive neighbors and obliterating some of them on the spot. Bixlow let out a noise and ducked out of its path, but not quickly enough. The soul zipped right through his brain, hitting him like a dart between the eyes. He screamed, clutching at his head as the soul's consciousness took over his senses—he tasted strawberries and smelled something floral and felt the bristles of a hairbrush on his scalp. Reeling confusion overwhelmed him as the soul battled his own mind. He screamed words, but he couldn't hear them, and when he finally expelled the weakening thing from his body he was staring at the sky, laying on the grass, and his babies were scattered around him, murmuring softly.

"Bixlow, help, Bixlow, help, Bixlow, help…" they whispered.

Bixlow was gasping for air. He quickly pulled the mask over his face for protection, but it was pointless. The soul had lost its purpose. He picked it out from the ranks by its unusual brightness, quietly meandering away with the other, dimmer souls.

"Bixlow, help," he muttered. That was what he'd screamed—that was the message the soul was so determined to deliver. He'd never seen a soul behave that way. It was either absurdly powerful, or…

…or it was still alive.

How else could it have moved with such violence? Who else would have recognized him? Who else would have known his name, begged him for help? It had to be Lisanna.

Quickly, Bixlow rolled over and fumbled for his bag. He dug around until he found a little black bottle with a rounded bottom—a soul glass, one he always carried in case of emergencies. He scrambled off the ground and chased after Lisanna's bright soul, uncorking the bottle as he went. She was ascending, almost out of his reach, but he jumped and managed to scoop her inside. The soul glass sucked her in. He corked it and exhaled, whistling through his lips.

Bixlow couldn't believe it. Why was her soul just floating around in the atmosphere? The Phasm mages must have messed up the soul-extracting ceremony, lost her soul in the chaos. What luck that they'd crossed paths, that she was cognitive enough to recognize him and pursue him. He held up the bottle and grinned. What would everyone say when he brought her over to the guild, all nice and pretty and wrapped up in a neat little package? Some assembly required, of course, but it was certainly more than anyone else had accomplished. Maybe she'd be grateful enough to buy him a drink or two and agree to a night on the town. Lisanna was a cute one.

Hell, if not, maybe the barmaid would be thankful enough to finally go on a freakin' date with Fried. It would make Bixlow just as happy to have his partner quit mooning over her all the time.

He continued on his journey, fatigue forgotten in light of the recent events. His babies were still woozy from Lisanna's attack, but by the time he was strolling up the cobblestone street they were buzzing with excitement. Bixlow dusted himself off for the big entrance, cleared his throat, made sure his mask was on straight. Then, with a tongue-wagging grin he couldn't resist, he threw open the front door.

The inside of the guild hall was pandemonium. Mages were celebrating left and right, clanking tankards together and singing cheerful tunes. Bixlow blinked, astounded, until his gaze settled on the crowd in the center of it all. His grin drooped like a wilting flower.

The girl was sitting on a table, still in the embrace of her overjoyed sister. The witch had changed her out of her bloodied clothes and replaced them with pajamas that Juvia had thoughtfully dropped off. She was still wearing them, and the gauze around her head. She was also sporting a smile as big and shining as the sun.

Someone clapped Bixlow on the shoulder, jostling him out of his stupor. It was the sandman guy, Max, looking as jubilant as the rest of them. "Isn't it great!" he said. "Lisanna's recovered! She woke up all on her own! I guess those Phasm people weren't as strong as we thought!"

Bixlow nodded slowly as the festivities pulled Max away again. He clenched the soul glass in his fist and hid it in his pocket as he stared at the girl sitting on the table. The girl that turned and waved at him when he caught her blue eye. The girl that was as dim and soulless as she was the night her brother carried her to the guild in his arms.


	6. Chapter Five

_**Author's Note**: Yeah, it's been a while. I'm so busy, lately. I'll try to keep things on track, but I'm afraid I can't make any promises. Crunch time is coming. The crunchiest of crunch times. So there may not be many updates for a while. Fair warning. Again, I apologize. Did I even apologize already? I don't think so. I won't again, since I have already. Crunchy!_

* * *

**Chapter Five**

The door slammed behind Bixlow with a finality that at once startled and terrified him. He closed his eyes and sank to the floor in front of it, touching the bottle strapped around his waist. Lisanna was still in there—he could feel the gentle warmth of her soul leaching through the purple glass. That glass was a source of anxiety for him all evening, anxiety that he kept carefully hidden as he drank and merry-made with the rest of the guild in celebration of Lisanna's remarkable recovery.

"Except she didn't recover," he murmured, clutching the bottle in his hand and holding it out in front of him. Lisanna's body was animated enough. She'd acted normally. Mirajane hadn't noticed anything out of the usual, when Bixlow had goaded Fried into asking. But he knew it wasn't really her. It couldn't be. Even if the soul in the soul glass wasn't Lisanna—although Bixlow was nearly certain it was—Lisanna's body hadn't had a soul in it. It was dark, like a corpse, as empty and hollow as a doll. He didn't know what was in there, but whatever it was, he doubted it was anything good. Creatures who didn't produce light rarely were.

He listened for Fried. The rune mage was uncharacteristically intoxicated, probably in an effort to take advantage of Bixlow's equally uncharacteristic sobriety. For once it was Bixlow dragging Fried home, an observation his partner had slurred more than once during the staggering journey, but Bixlow had been too distracted to reply.

Bixlow didn't hear anything from the next room. Fried was out cold. Quietly he stood and dug around his magic supplies until he found what he was looking for—a delicate porcelain doll with glossy yellow curls and a painted, smiling face. He'd acquired it from a mission years ago, when he'd rescued a girl from a burning building while her village was raided by a nearby dark guild. Her parents had lost her in the confusion, so he'd carried her on his back while he fought the dark mages. After the battle, he helped her find her parents. Later, when the Raijinshuu were providing aid to the villagers, she'd approached him and offered him the doll as a thank you, having noticed that he "collected" dolls. Bixlow hadn't wanted to take it, but she'd insisted. When she tottered back to her family, Bixlow stuck it in his bag and didn't mention it to any of his teammates. The doll was charred and cracked, nearly ruined from the violence, but over the years Bixlow had found time to repair it. He didn't usually collected souvenirs unless there was a funny story behind them, but this one he'd kept safe and hidden in the back of his wardrobe.

He set the doll on his bed and uncorked Lisanna's soul glass. Her soul emerged drowsily, but began to struggle when he nudged it toward the doll. She was still weak from the exertion of earlier, though, because eventually he forced her into it while his babies cheered him on. Nervous the noise might wake Fried, Bixlow sent them into hibernation mode. They flew to the corner of the room and nestled together in a neat stack.

Meanwhile, the doll blinked her blue, glass eyes, thick black lashes casting shadows on her pink cheeks. The eyes focused with unnerving clarity on Bixlow. She lifted herself onto her elbows, looking down at her stiff limbs. Then she turned again to Bixlow, still smiling blankly.

"Lisanna?" Bixlow said, peering at her. "It'll be hard to talk. You don't have a workin' mouth right now. Just try to project your thoughts and I'll be able to hear them."

It took her some time, but eventually she managed to say his name, projecting it into space like his babies did. Only, she had a will that was entirely her own. The babies' souls were dead, so they just mimicked their host. Lisanna was still very much alive.

"Bixlow?" she said again. "It's you. Thank goodness."

"Huh. Never thought I'd hear that from the likes of you," Bixlow joked. "Feel free to say it again, if you want."

Lisanna moved her doll arms, clearly perplexed, although her painted face remained joyous. The doll had no joints aside from her shoulders and hip sockets, and her hands were permanently curled into loose fists. Lisanna looked up, and though her eyes were made of glass, Bixlow could see the turmoil behind them. "What happened to me?"

"That's the million dollar question," said Bixlow, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "Why don't you tell me what you remember?"

She thought for a few moments. "I…remember the mission. It all went south really fast. These cloaked men came from nowhere and started attacking us. I went to go save the client…but when I got to the cottage, he was conversing with another cloaked man and they knocked me out. I don't remember much after that. I was flying…and I don't know, it's hard to explain. The last thing I remember was seeing—no, _sensing_—you, and I went for it. I guess you must have realized it was me."

"You went for it, alright," said Bixlow dryly. "You freakin' _possessed_ me."

For a split second, Lisanna looked horrified even behind the happy doll's face. "You mean I'm a _ghost_? I'm _dead_?"

"No! You're a soul. Don't worry, you're still alive. Those cloaked guys, they removed your soul from your body. Elfman carried your body to the guild, and Porlyusica's been takin' care of you. My guess is those guys—we think they're this cult called Phasm—their ritual failed for some reason, went haywire and they didn't catch your soul quick enough. You were left up in the atmosphere, floating around. You're lucky you ran into me, girlie. Otherwise you would've died. Or at least, the other souls would've absorbed all of you. There'd be pieces of you still around, but it wouldn't really be you. Your existence would've been negligible. Eventually, your body would've given out, and then you really would've been dead."

"So my body's okay?" Lisanna inquired. "Porlyusica's taking care of me? And what about Elf-nii and Mira? How are they?"

Bixlow sucked in a breath through his teeth. "Well…it's complicated."

"What do you mean, 'it's complicated'?"

"See, your body was in a coma until just a few hours ago. Then, inexplicably, it…woke up."

"Woke up?" Lisanna repeated. "How could it have woken up? I'm not in there!"

"I know," said Bixlow. "But no one else knows that. And whatever's in there doesn't have a soul, so it's most likely a demon. It could be a harmless poltergeist up to some mischief, or it could be somethin' real nasty. Considerin' the witch's place is probably warded, I didn't wanna take any chances, so I went along with it and brought you here."

"You're telling me that there is a demon in my body, socializing with my brother and my sister and the rest of my nakama, _and_ _you let everyone think it was me_?!"

"What else was I supposed to do?!" Bixlow snapped. "It would've put them in more danger if I'd said anything! The demon could have killed anyone around it before I explained. It could have killed _you_."

Lisanna tried to take a deep breath to calm herself, but naturally the doll had no lungs. Still, she closed her eyes and went through the motions of it, even puffing out her chest and caving it back in. When she opened her eyes, they were piercing. "Well, what do we do now, Bixlow?"

"We need to figure out exactly what's possessing your body," he said. "I don't even know if it's related to Phasm, or just a freak occurrence. Either way, we need to find out. There's a task force headed to Mt. Hakobe, since that's where the bookworm thinks their headquarters are. Maybe they'll find out more."

"Wait, who are these Phasm people?" Lisanna asked.

Bixlow caught her up on the progress of her investigation, including the task force's findings at the scene of the crime. When told that her brother was on the task force headed to the mountain, Lisanna was distraught but not surprised. She didn't seemed worried about any of them—she claimed she had complete faith in their abilities. "I'm more concerned about this thing inside my body," she admitted. "No one knows it's evil. Oh, god. It's sleeping in the same house as Mira right now. What if it does something to her? We have to find a way to warn her!"

"Your sister will be fine," Bixlow assured. "She'll be the first person to notice something's wrong. And she's hella strong, so she'll probably kick that thing's ass before we could even get to it."

"She won't," Lisanna said, shaking her head. "She won't hurt it if it looks like me. And if she notices something wrong and asks about it, then she'll be in danger. She won't see it coming." Lisanna sobbed, covering her raspberry red mouth with her porcelain hands. "Oh, god. She'll die thinking I killed her! Bixlow, we have to do something!"

Bixlow pinched Lisanna's chubby face between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look at him. "I'm workin' on it, alright? There ain't much we _can_ do right now. That demon ain't gonna touch your sister until it thinks it's in danger, and your sister can damn well take care of herself. She fought Fried and she won. That ain't even somethin' I can boast." He released her. "I'd be more worried about myself, if I was you. First of all, you're a defenseless porcelain doll. Second, if that demon does anything to your body, you're toast. You'll be stuck in a container forever. And, worst part, I'll have to be the one who keeps you there."

Lisanna shivered. "Okay, Bixlow. I…I'm trusting you. To help me and my family."

"Tall order," said Bixlow. He stretched. "I'll do more recon tomorrow morning. Right now, I need sleep. You could probably use some rest, too."

"Do souls sleep?"

Bixlow shrugged. "They hibernate."

"How?"

"You won't have any trouble. I'm puttin' you back in the soul glass."

"What? No, you can't! I need to stay—"

"—In the doll?" Bixlow snorted. "What're you gonna do like that, huh? Nothin' useful. It's drainin' my energy keepin' you in there, so just be a good girl and go in the soul glass. I promise I'll talk to you first thing tomorrow morning."

Lisanna narrowed her eyes at the condescension, or at least she would have if her eyelids moved that way. As it was, only her upper lid lowered, giving her a glazed look that was much less effective. "Fine," she huffed, crossing her arms. She looked down at herself while he retrieved the bottle. "Why do you have this thing, anyway?"

"Souvenir," he remarked evasively. "Say goodnight, doll-face."

Bixlow didn't give her the chance. He uncorked the soul glass, and Lisanna was cast back into sweet, pitch oblivion before she could utter another word.

* * *

Bixlow woke up the next morning already breaking promises. As he got dressed, he decided that talking to Lisanna would prove useless unless he gathered more information regarding the body-snatcher situation. So he left her meditating peacefully in the soul glass on his shelf, tucked away in the darkest corner beside the porcelain doll.

He and Fried ate breakfast and made their way to the guild. Bixlow considered letting his friend in on the truth about Lisanna's soul, but decided against it. Fried was bad at bluffing, particularly when he talked to Mirajane, and Bixlow didn't want him to accidentally let something slip and arouse suspicion that could only end badly. If only Laxus was there, then he'd tell everything. Laxus would know exactly what to do—but Laxus was still away on that damned mission in Balsam Town.

That presented yet another problem—the Raijinshuu had agreed that if Laxus hadn't returned by today, they'd begin looking for him more thoroughly. Bixlow wasn't concerned about Laxus—he never was, he'd just needed an excuse not to go on that expedition—but now he didn't see how he could possibly get out of it. Laxus had never described the particulars of his mission, so there was no telling how long it would take to complete. Bixlow couldn't look for Laxus and spy on Lisanna's imposter at the same time. He hoped that, in the excitement of Lisanna's return, Fried and Evergreen would just forget about it.

The guild was already full when Fried and Bixlow arrived. Immediately, they spotted Lisanna—she was seated at the bar surrounded by people who were drilling her on anything she could remember. It didn't seem like she could answer many of their questions.

"The last thing I remember is walking up to the cottage," she was saying as they passed. "There was this huge maple tree. I remember that. But then…it just starts to fade."

Levy, who was actively listening to Lisanna's story, saw Bixlow out of her periphery and, having become accustomed to asking his advice, inquired, "Is amnesia like that normal, Bixlow?"

Everyone's gaze switched to the seith mage in an instant. Lisanna turned to him as well, but in her bright blue stare there was something more than curiosity—there was calculation. Bixlow silently cursed Levy for revealing his specialty so soon. Now, whatever was inside Lisanna's body would be on guard.

"Not sure," he answered gruffly. "This is a weird case, after all."

"Weird, weird!" the babies chirped.

The bookworm looked disappointed, but everyone turned back to Lisanna. She was still focused on Bixlow, though, feigned concern written on her face. "How extensive is the amnesia?" she asked quietly. "Will it get worse, do you think?"

Bixlow narrowed his eyes behind his visor. _She's lookin' for a scapegoat, in case she makes a blunder with someone_, he thought. He wouldn't let her get off that easily. "No, definitely not. You were only gone for a few days, so you probably didn't lose much. Only your most recent memories."

"Oh," she sighed. "That's a relief."

"Bixlow," Makarov interjected, "have you had any luck finding Laxus?"

Again, Bixlow let out a slew of mental curses. "No, not yet," he said.

"We're going out again as soon as Evergreen comes by," Fried added. He pointed over to the entrance. "Speak of the devil, I think that's her now."

Bixlow turned. There was no mistaking Evergreen's haughty emerald figure in the door, carefully positioned so that the light would catch on her hair and glasses while she fluttered her paper fan with poise. She liked to make an entrance, although no one ever really noticed the product of her diligent effort. After the allotted time for discrete admiration, Evergreen stepped into the guild and began walking toward them.

"Is Laxus missing?" Lisanna inquired with some alarm.

"No, but he went on a mission right before your incident and he's yet to return. We just want to make sure he's safe," said Fried.

"Are you two ready?" Evergreen asked. She had her bedazzled green purse on one shoulder, bulging with supplies.

"Ready," said Fried. Bixlow struggled to manufacture an excuse, anything, but he drew a blank, and he knew—with a surprising amount of dismay—that he'd already failed Lisanna. Even if they quickly located Laxus, she'd be furious and disappointed that he'd abandoned her sister and the guild to the whims of whatever was inside her body.

"Wait," said Mirajane. She focused on Bixlow, giving him some hope. "I'm truly sorry to ask, but would you mind staying? This amnesia really has me worried. Is there any way you could…inspect Lisanna? Her soul, I mean, to see if it's damaged or something?"

"Mira, it's alright," Lisanna's imposter said quickly. "I'm fine. I don't need to be inspected. You're just overreacting."

"Nah, it's not a big deal," Bixlow replied. He was unable to suppress a triumphant grin, but he did his best to make it look like a polite, helpful smile. By the expressions of restrained doubt on the sisters' faces, he didn't succeed. "Fried and Evergreen can manage without me, right?"

"Oh, we'll manage alright," Evergreen snorted with glee. "Thanks, Mirajane. You just did us a _huge_ favor. Come on, Fried, let's go before they change their minds."

She took Fried's arm and dragged him away. Mirajane missed the poor guy's stoic, sullen wave, but Bixlow returned it gloatingly.

Lisanna's imposter was beginning to show its anxiety when he turned to look at her. "Can you really inspect my soul?" she asked dubiously.

"Sure," said Bixlow, "but it won't hurt. Pinkie swear." He held out his pinkie for good measure, while the babies chorused, "Won't hurt! Pinkie swear!"

"There's nothing to worry about," Mirajane soothed, putting one hand on Lisanna's shoulder. The imposter bore it, but Bixlow didn't miss the stiff twitch of her shoulder at the contact. Neither did Mirajane. She drew away, looking perplexed.

_Not good_, he thought. _The barmaid's catching on. If she figures out that this isn't really Lisanna, it could be bad for everybody_. Once the imposter was unveiled, there's no telling what it would do. Bixlow still had no idea what it was, or how much power it possessed. He needed to get it away from the guild before it decided its cover was blown.

"We'll do it at my place," he said, nodding toward the door. "I got some equipment we'll need."

"Really, this isn't necessary—"

"Lisanna, I insist," Mirajane said sternly. She ushered the girl away from the bar, gently but firmly nudging her toward the door.

The imposter bit her lip and nodded, letting the barmaid guide her from the guild. Bixlow put a hand on Mirajane's shoulder, stopping her at the entrance. "It'll be easier if it's just us," he whispered.

"What? No, I'm coming with you."

"Your energy will disrupt the process," Bixlow fibbed sloppily. He really didn't want Mirajane coming with them—if he tried to vanquish this thing, Mirajane would use her Satan Soul to stop him. All the imposter would have to do was scream.

"Oh, and your energy doesn't 'disrupt the process'? The energy of those things doesn't?" Mirajane pointed to the babies. "Look, I'm really worried about her, okay? She hasn't been acting herself. I know she's been through a lot, but…it's really worrying me. I have to come with you. She's my sister."

Bixlow squeezed her shoulder. His eyes flashed green behind the slits of his mask, not from his magic, but from the intensity of his message. He dropped his voice to a hiss, knowing that their prolonged conversation was piquing the imposter's interest. "Is she?"

Mirajane's eyes widened with horror. Bixlow shifted his body to keep her from glancing at her sister and ruining everything. He released her and softly pushed her back into the guild. "Well," he said, as though they'd had a perfectly normal conversation. He put his hand on Lisanna's back and shoved her forward. "It'll be an hour, tops."

"An hour, an hour!" the babies cried. "An hour, tops!"


	7. Chapter Six

_**Warning:** This chapter contains some adult themes, violence, and disturbing imagery. Is not for the faint of heart or mind. Or bladder. Especially not for the faint of bladder._

* * *

**Chapter Six**

If Lisanna's imposter hadn't realized that Bixlow knew something was amiss when they left the guild, she certainly realized on the way to his house. Bixlow didn't even bother making conversation with her—he kept one hand clasped around her slender wrist, and his babies formed a slow, revolving circle around her head. They kept to the most deserted route, taking back-alleys and shortcuts where no scrupulous city-dweller would dare approach. Luckily, Bixlow was far from scrupulous, so he knew his way through them well.

The thing in Lisanna's body didn't resist. She walked straight ahead, saying nothing. Bixlow tried to get a read on what exactly it was, but he couldn't sense any aura. He supposed she wasn't too powerful, since she was complying. Maybe she was trying to formulate a plan. Whatever the case, the imposter wasn't confident enough to make a scene in the guild, which meant it probably wasn't a very powerful demon—if it was even a demon at all.

They were almost to Bixlow's house when the imposter finally turned her head and looked at him for the first time. She stared at him a few seconds with a small smirk on her face. "So," she said, "what exactly are you planning to do with me?"

Her voice was velvety smooth, and without innocent obliviousness of her façade as Lisanna. Bixlow was rather relieved that he wouldn't have to bother her into dropping the act. "You'll find out," he replied curtly.

"That's ominous," the imposter chuckled. She turned her attention back to the pavement in front of her.

When they arrived to his house, Bixlow stopped in front of the door. He raised an eyebrow. "Do you need to be invited in?" he asked curiously.

The imposter raised one eyebrow, smiled, and stepped forward, turning the unlocked doorknob and effortlessly stepping inside Bixlow's home. "I'm not a vampire," she said. She didn't bother twisting out of Bixow's grip—she just dragged him inside with her while she looked around. "Nice place," she remarked. "Not as nice as my house, but it's decent. Good layout. Could use some better interior decorating, though."

"I'll take that up with my roommate," said Bixlow. He tightened his grip on her arm and pulled her toward him roughly, twisting her wrist in his grip. The imposter winced, but didn't say anything. "And you don't have a house. You're a parasite."

"Parasite, parasite…" the babies whispered.

"That's not very nice," the imposter simpered.

"I'm not a nice person. Especially to people who trick my friends and steal the bodies of pretty girls." Bixlow grinned. "But you're not even a person, are you? You're just some lowlife demon."

"How can you say that?" Lisanna's imposter said, blinking innocently. "I'm just sick, that's all. My soul was taken from my body. That's got to do something to a person's behavior."

"Cut the crap. Lisanna's soul never got back to her body." Bixlow tapped the metal of his mask. "Special x-ray vision, babe. I can tell. You didn't fool me for a second."

"Didn't fool him!" the babies chirped. "Not for a second!"

"You've just got it all figured out, don't you?"

"Actually, I don't." Bixlow threw the imposter onto the couch, where she landed with a bewildered little cry. The babies pinned her down by her shoulders, making a solid line. Bixlow walked toward her and leaned in, removing his mask so that she could see right into his bright green Figure Eyes. "Before I exorcise you, I want to know one thing: who summoned you here?"

The imposter smiled and shook her head. "Poor, poor human. You think I'm that kind of demon? The one that comes at the beck and call of whatever scum promises me freedom? Yes, I was summoned, but it was long before you were born, long before your precious guild even existed. I'm not an evanescent shadow of a demon, bouncing from realm to realm in search of enough sustenance to feed. I'm not some laboratory experiment, either. I don't need this girl's body. I have my own flesh and blood." Her hand came up and rested on Bixlow's shoulder. The babies weren't holding her down anymore—they were trembling, quaking from the dark power that poured from Lisanna's body. Her blue eyes were now black pits, and her breath carried the sweet stench of rot. Bixlow couldn't bring himself to move—he was hypnotized by her as she lifted her head from the couch, so their noses were so close they touched. "And if there's one thing I've learned from my life," she murmured, trailing one hand down Bixlow's chest, "it's that there's no force more potent than the flesh."

In one sharp movement, she twisted her hand in Bixlow's hair and pulled his lips down on hers so forcefully that their teeth collided. Bixlow crashed down on top of her, struggling to pull away, but Lisanna's body was deceptively strong and the demon worked quickly. Her back came up in an arch and she looped her legs around Bixlow's waist, pressing Lisanna's soft, alluring curves into him while using her weight to keep Bixlow disoriented. She forced his mouth open and before he knew it her tongue was swirling around with his, doing things he'd never even known were possible—and he had an experienced tongue. Bixlow could feel his body overriding his brain, and suddenly his mouth moved automatically with hers, and his hands were gripping instead of shoving, and it was him pressing her into the couch. He felt Lisanna's entire body shudder, and she let out a tremendous moan. Her nails stung deliciously when she raked them across his back—but he couldn't even recall her hands sliding under his shirt, and when that brought clarity back to him for a second, Lisanna did something with her mouth and rotated her hips in a way that lit him on fire.

He was lost. He couldn't think a single coherent thought—his body wasn't even listening to him anymore. His head was spinning, he couldn't breathe, but he couldn't bear the thought of pulling away from her for even a second. Whatever she was doing to him—it was magic.

Then, with creeping horror, Bixlow realized something. Lisanna's tongue was moving in two different directions—at the same time. Like she had two different tongues. And one was growing bigger, coating the inside of his mouth.

Whatever fire Bixlow felt shriveled up inside him as he realized what was happening. He struggled to separate them, but Lisanna's grip was strong. His hands fumbled for her throat, and wrapped around it—Lisanna's hands gripped his shoulders, digging in, but the creature still moved with quick motivation inside Bixlow's mouth, little claws grappling with his tongue. He released her—choking would only kill Lisanna's body. The babies flew at her, knocking her around, but that, too, was useless. Bixlow shut his eyes and chomped down on the creature, biting down on his tongue in the process but gaining a satisfying crunch. Lisanna let out a screech and faltered. Bixlow took the opportunity to throw her off of him and scramble away. He gagged as the thing slipped from his mouth.

Lisanna's imposter was panting on the couch, a brown tentacle with wriggling little legs siding back down her throat. Bixlow thought he would vomit when her lips closed around it and her tongue flicked out, covered in blood. It left a red dash on her bottom lip.

"That was a little more than a playful nibble. You should be careful."

"Too much tongue," Bixlow gurgled. He spit blood—his own, he hoped—from his mouth. His tongue was throbbing, but at least it was still under his own control. His babies raged in long circles around them, preparing for battle. He didn't really want to battle her, though—the demon was safely inside Lisanna's body. He wouldn't do any harm to it unless he could coax it out. "So," he began, "you're a body-snatcher, huh? A wendigo?"

"Good job," the imposter said. She slowly moved from the couch, standing across from him. "Normally I'd just manufacture my own disguise, but I'm doing a special favor that required a bit of possession. You didn't seem to mind."

"Who are you workin' for?"

"I told you, I'm not an indentured servant," the wendigo snapped. "I'm simply doing a favor for a friend of mine. Don't you do favors, human?"

"Not if I can help it."

"Well, I get the feeling you're going to do me a favor right now." She strode up to him sensually, one eyebrow raised. The babies flew in a tighter circle around him, blocking her path. This only made her smile. "You're not going to hurt this body. You can't. This girl, she's too precious to your guild. All your friends, everyone you know and care about, will rise up in mutiny if you flay her. They'll be outraged once they see what harm you've inflicted already. So, I'm going to make you a deal."

"I don't deal with demons," said Bixlow.

Lisanna's eyes narrowed and she tilted her head. "Come now, we both know that's fallacy. And my offer really isn't bad. All I ask is that when we return to the guild, you pretend like you've exorcised whatever spirit you've convinced this girl's sister lives inside her. You don't blow my cover again. In return, I won't kill you. In fact, maybe I'll put in a good word for you with my friend, so you'll have something to fall back on when this world goes to shit. What do you say?" She stuck out her hand.

Bixlow shook his head. "Go to hell."

"Already been there. You might like it. It's toasty." The wendigo dropped her hand and shrugged. "Suit yourself, though. If you want to do this the hard way, we'll do it that way." She took a step back and held out her arms. "I'll even let you take the first shot. If you're going to shoot."

Bixlow only had one option—go for the knockout. He roared and rushed forward, drawing back a fist. In a blur, the wendigo caught his wrist between her two small hands and used his moment to flip him over her back, onto the coffee table where he landed with a groan. She shook her head. "That was pathetic. This is what's wrong with you humans. You're too predictable."

"Right," said Bixlow. Then Pippi zipped into view and crashed into Lisanna's temple, knocking her to the ground. Her body crumpled to the floor like a pale flower. Bixlow stood, groaning as the splinters of the table fell all around him. "You might as well come out," he challenged. "I've got supplies here, I can pry you out myself."

"Pry, pry!" the babies cried.

It didn't take long. Bixlow only saw it coming because he noticed the subtle quiver of Lisanna's spine. Then a smoky black apparition burst from her mouth, screaming as it made for Bixow. The babies met it head-on, and both sides flew back with the force of the impact. The babies flew in every direction, and the wendigo hit the wall, materializing as it scrambled off the ground.

It was an ugly thing, half solid and half not, a medley of graveyard ash and mucous, clicking exoskeleton. Its teeth were long and sharp, riddled with rot, as were the claws and pinchers on its arms. It had a long, slithering tail and its eyes were the dark pits Bixlow had seen in Lisanna's face.

"Congratulations, human," it wheezed. Its voice was dead leaves in the breeze. "You've got me. Now what are you going to do?"

The wendigo didn't give him time to answer. It leapt at him with blinding speed. Bixlow dodged its attack, but it simply rebounded off the wall and came at him again. The babies hit him in a solid line formation, like a baseball bat in the torso. Bixlow waved a hand and they all shot at it like an arrow, further bludgeoning it with their wooden bodies. It screamed and shifted again, changing into its gaseous state. Bixlow cursed and leapt for his metal mask on the ground, hitting shattered remains of the coffee table in a nose-dive. He fumbled for it and put it up to his face just as the wendigo reached him. It screeched, deflected by the enchanted iron, and materialized once more, raking at Bixlow with its claws. He cried out when it got his shoulder. The heavy weight of the wendigo was crushing his legs. The tail came up from behind it and slapped Bixlow's face. His arms wobbled as he tried to keep the wendigo's claws from mauling him.

The babies shot at it and knocked the wendigo away. Bixlow rolled up and ran toward the mantle where two of Fried's rapiers were displayed. He ripped one from its sheath and launched at the wendigo. Then, suddenly, it morphed into the slim form of a woman, refining her features until it was Evergreen standing naked and terrified in front of him. "Please, no!" she screamed, turning her face away as Bixlow brought down the rapier.

Bixlow followed through, slicing the blade through Evergreen's torso. She looked utterly shocked when the thick black blood dripped down her body. She transformed back into the wendigo as she fell to her knees, dying. The black ichor spread onto the carpet in an oily puddle, more blood than any human could ever produce. The wendigo dropped to the floor, letting out a shuddering breath. Bixlow wiped the rapier on his shirt and tossed it away.

"Wrong choice," he told the demon. He squatted down and pressed his hand into the creature's wound, twisting cruelly. "Now, tell me. Are you workin' for Phasm? Where are they? What're they planning?"

"I can't believe you've killed me," the wendigo gurgled. Blood came up from its mouth, splashing onto Bixlow's mask. "I've never met a human who didn't fall for that trick. You…are one unfeeling bastard."

"No," said Bixlow. "You just turned into the wrong person. Evergreen would want me to kill her, if she ever looked so pitiful. Now answer my questions."

"Just know this, human," the wendigo hissed. "You don't stand a chance. Even with me dead, there are no holes in Alastor's scheme."

Bixlow dug in deeper. "Who's Alastor?"

"This world will perish," the wendigo groaned. It breathed its last breath. "It won't be long before I see you in hell."

Bixlow swore when the wendigo went still and crumbled into a pile of dust. He stood up and kicked it furiously, splattering blood and ash across the furniture. It felt so vindicating that he did it again, and again and again, calling the debris a myriad of horrible names. The babies floated above him in silence.

Once his temper was under control, Bixlow drifted over to Lisanna's body. She was also covered in blood and ash, and a purple bruise was blooming on the right side of her face. The pattern continued on her arms and legs, striking against her paleness, all inflicted by Bixlow. He felt a twinge of guilt, but at least her body was an empty vessel. With the wendigo dead, her soul was free to return.

Bixlow cleared the couch of dust and splinters as best he could and picked Lisanna off the ground, setting her down on the blood-stained cushions. There was no cleaning that. Fried would have to purchase new furniture when this was all over. He ordered Pippi to retrieve the soul glass from the shelf in his room. The tiki doll had it balanced on his head, giggling as he made a game of taking sharp, fast turns to get to Bixlow.

"C'mere, you brat," he grumbled, snatching the glass from the baby's flat top. Bixlow looked down at the round bottle pensively. He could feel the warmth and the peace seeping from the soul inside. For a second, he considered leaving her in there, instead of bringing her out to fight in this shit. He'd probably do everyone a favor that way. Her siblings would be eternally grateful, and he didn't think Lisanna would be much help fighting these Phasm people. She didn't have a reputation for being particularly strong.

But he sighed and uncorked the soul glass anyway. Lisanna was the only person who wouldn't appreciate his intervention, and while she wasn't a strong mage, the unadulterated wrath of a Fairy Tail woman could kill on basic principle.

Her soul glided freely into the air, hovering for just a moment before her beating heart called it forth. Bixlow watched the soft, glowing wisp submerge itself into her bruised flesh, spreading through her veins and bones until her dim gray skin was alive with gentle pink light. Her blue eyes fluttered open, and her face contorted into a wince when she felt all the aches and pains her body had sustained under its possession. She sat up, blinking, taking in her surroundings, until finally her gaze landed on Bixlow with some surprise.

"Hey there, Sleeping Beauty," he greeted smugly.

Lisanna stretched her sore muscles, raising her hands into the air and wiggling her fingers and toes to test them out. "You didn't kiss me to wake me up, did you?" she laughed. Her voice was hoarse.

Bixlow was glad his mask was on, because he felt his face blanch when he recalled his debauchery with Lisanna's body while the wendigo was inside. He decided he wouldn't mention it. "You wish," he said as smoothly as possible, but it came out a bit gargled from the gag reflex the memory triggered.

Lisanna smacked her arms down on the cushions of the couch, raising little puffs of ash. She looked around at the destroyed room. "What happened in here?"

"I tricked the demon into comin' with me," Bixlow said. "You were possessed by a wendigo. A body-snatcher, shape-shifter thing. Don't worry, I slayed it."

"Slay, slay!" the babies mocked.

Lisanna raised her eyebrows. "Impressive."

"We're not out of the woods yet, though," he continued darkly. "It was workin' for Phasm. In particular, someone named Alastor. Ring a bell?" Lisanna shook her head. "I didn't think so. It didn't give me much information. Just went on about the end of the world and shit."

"We need to tell the others what's happened," Lisanna said, standing. Her legs wobbled under her and she stumbled, catching herself on Bixlow's shoulders. She steadied herself, still hanging on to him as she lifted one foot and then the other. "Sorry, I'll have to get used to having a body again. I feel so heavy, like I'm walking around in a rubber suit."

Bixlow grinned a tongue-wagging grin. "Don't mind me. Take as long as you'd like."

She gave him a look and let go, taking a few small, tentative steps. "We need to warn the others," she insisted after a few seconds.

"Not a good idea," Bixlow said, shaking his head.

"What? Why?"

"Somethin' the wendigo said didn't sit right with me. 'Even with me dead, there are no holes in Alastor's scheme.' I don't think it was just possessin' you to deflect attention from Phasm. I think it was here to collect souls. And I think there's more than one."

Lisanna frowned. "You mean…"

"Someone else in Fairy Tail might be possessed."

"But…everyone had their souls, right?"

"Doesn't mean nothin'. Not everyone's there when I'm there."

Lisanna frowned. "Can we at least warn Mira? And what about Elfman, and the others on the task force? They have no idea what's going on."

"I don't think we should tell anyone," Bixlow said sternly. "Your sister already suspects somethin's up. She'll be on guard. But there's no tellin' who's possessed, or what's possessin' them. Wendigos aren't the only things that can crawl into people's bodies, and they're not the nastiest, either."

Lisanna shuddered. She sighed and steeled herself, jutting out her chin stubbornly. "Then we need to go to Mt. Hakobe and help the others."

"…Come again?"

"We need to help the task force fight Phasm," Lisanna repeated. "They don't know what they're up against. They need your help, and I'm coming with you."

"They don't need shit," Bixlow argued. "I already gave them all the information I could. The ol' geezer sent the cream of the freakin' crop up there. They'll be fine."

"Cream of the crop!" the babies squealed. "Fine, fine!"

"My brother is up there on that mountain, and so are some of my best friends," Lisanna hissed, narrowing her eyes dangerously. "They are my nakama. They have no idea what's going on and they need your help, Bixlow. I need your help and you _promised_ you'd help me."

"Yeah, that I'd help you get your body back, _which I did_," Bixlow said. "I ducked out of that task force to help you get your body back, in fact, so in a way it's your fault that I'm not up there in the first place. How d'you feel about that?"

"You're lying!" Lisanna cried. "You told me the task force left before I even ran into you! They were already gone when you found out the wendigo was possessing me!"

"…Yeah, that was a cheap shot, wasn't it?"

"You know what, I don't need you," Lisanna huffed, pushing past him. "I don't need a lying, inconsiderate jerk with me. I'm going to go talk to my sister, and then we are going to go help my brother. Because you know what? That's what family _does_. They protect each other." She put her hand on the door knob and froze. "…Thank you," she mumbled reluctantly, "for helping me get my body back."

Then she opened the door and walked out.

Bixlow stood in the middle of his destroyed living room, absolutely stunned. He heaved a sigh and glanced around him at his babies, who were quiet with expectation. "I know," he groaned, shuffling toward the door. "We're gonna help her, dammit. Stop givin' me those looks."

He opened the door, half hoping she'd already transformed into a bird and flown off, but she was there waiting on the porch. They stared at one another for a moment, silently negotiating, until Bixlow sighed and dragged a hand across his face, smearing blood and sweat under his mask. Lisanna offered him a small, proud smile as she stepped back inside.

"I knew you had a heart in there somewhere," she said. She poked his chest when she passed, right where the wendigo had clawed him. Her touch stung like a knife, but Bixlow didn't say a word.


End file.
